


The Raven and the Bluebird

by Kaerra



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon deaths (you know who you are), Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Family Issues, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Minor Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Probable Dimileth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerra/pseuds/Kaerra
Summary: “You want me to go with you?” Annette managed to find her voice, and it sounded suspiciously high-pitched. “Now?”“You’ll be safest in Fraldarius territory. With m— all of us,” he said, voice insistent, and Annette didn’t know what to think. It was impossible. Sweet and impulsive, but impossible. She didn’t try to hide her disappointment.“Oh, Felix… I can’t.”Annette has always been the bluebird to Felix's raven, taking him captive with her song well before he understood it. Can they find love after five years of separation, against the backdrop of war? Or will the raven only exist to be a harbinger of death on the battlefield?
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 103
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first piece of fanfiction in over a decade, and it feels a bit surreal to be back at it. Annette and Felix’s supports took me from my initial Dimileth fixation to a whole other realm of character study. I wanted to explore their relationship while looking at gaps in the game narrative that could be filled in believably without taking me into AU territory. I hope I've succeeded. This hasn't been betaed, so any mistakes are obviously my fault. 
> 
> In full disclosure, I only got back into writing fics because of the absolutely stellar Felannie work-in-progress by FódExShippingCo (DuckArmada).Thank you for the inspiration, and I hope you don't mind my shout-out to your work. Mine does not draw on yours (other than Felix smelling of pine, because that just fits), but I felt the need to acknowledge you, all the same. (I also can't wait to read your next chapter!) If you'd rather not be named, please let me know, and I'll take it down.
> 
> In this story, I've set my sights on what happens to Felannie (among others in BL) during the timeskip and afterwards. I especially wondered how Dimitri wandered around for years killing bad guys all by his lonesome, and how Rodrigue and Gilbert found out about it, but couldn’t track him down till Byleth's reappearance. This is my attempt at explaining that. And the aftermath, in later chapters.
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful prompts of Fantastical Felannie Week 2020 for helping me figure out exactly how to open this story! This chapter was inspired by Day 1, Masquerade. The rest of the work won't have anything to do with prompts except by happenstance.

20 Wyvern Moon, 1185

In the end, it was all Mercedes’s fault.

Annette Fantine Dominic stood in the grand ballroom of what used to be the royal palace of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Gone was the Blaiddyd regalia, replaced with that of Cornelia Arnim, usurper and leader of the so-called Faerghus Dukedom, joined by banners bearing the coat of arms of all noble houses that had sworn fealty to her and the conquering Adrestian Empire, including Annette’s own House Dominic. Seeing those banners left a sour taste in Annette’s mouth, a reminder that her secret allegiance—to the kingdom that had splintered with Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd’s execution four years earlier—wasn’t safe to utter. But soon, she would finally have the chance to _do_ something about it.

Stuck in the fluttering, overexcited entourage of her uncle, Baron Dominic, Annette adjusted the stiff leather mask that covered most of her face, effectively disguising all her features except for her bright hair, eyes, mouth, and pertly pointed chin. They’d arrived at the ball twenty minutes ago, and had engaged in the tedious protocol of extended pointless conversation with the other noble houses present. Once the dancing began in earnest, Annette could put her plan into action, and, Goddess willing, see it bear fruit.

Her instructions were to come to Cornelia’s Wyvern Moon Masquerade Ball dressed like a Common Faerghian Bluebird, which was not as pretty of an ensemble—or real life inspiration—as it sounded. The diminutive bird was more of a dusky blue, like Annette’s eye color, and it was a common sight hopping around the evergreen forests that spread across the cold northern clime of Faerghus.

In that sense, the choice was apropos. Compared to the colorful, ostentatious costumes of everyone around her, the subtle blue and grays of Annette’s off-the-shoulder gown and feathered mask faded into the background, avoiding undue attention. Her uncle had questioned her choice multiple times, lamenting its lack of pomp for the premier courtship ball of the Faerghus Dukedom’s nobility and those of the Empire. Her only concession to his demands was the mask itself, which sparkled with strategically placed large blue topazes and a magical glamor that lent it a glow like a moonstone.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Mercedes von Martritz murmured in Annette’s ear.

To any onlooker casually glancing in their direction, the two women were exclaiming over the grandeur—the magnificent crystal chandeliers overhead, the polished gleam of the dance floor which had yet to see the first dancers, and everyone in attendance. Next to Annette, Mercedes stood tall and statuesque in her elegantly draped robes, her outfit inspired by a mythical figure from ancient Faerghian heroic tales. Her status as a commoner—having been kicked out of House Bartels as a child—meant she was only attending this ball as the guest of Annette’s family. And co-conspirator.

Mercedes made a show of pointing to some random person across the room, and Annette feigned laughter before answering her question.

“I’ve come this far, Mercie. I have to do it.”

“Here we go, then,” Mercie responded. “We’ll make this happen.”

Ever since the plans had gone in motion, Mercedes had vowed to help her through every aspect—making contact with Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius’s spy network to share important intelligence. Intelligence Annette had gleaned from listening outside of her uncle’s study six weeks ago, when one of Cornelia’s own spies had paid him a visit and shaken Annette’s world to its foundations. Mercie had been the go-between, whose head would also go on the chopping block if they were caught.

And now, here they were, ready to execute the plan—to meet a Fraldarian spy right under Cornelia’s nose, in her own ballroom. The sheer audacity of it made Annette want to cheer. Mercie’s job was to keep Baron Dominic distracted once Annette had located the person. Whom it was she might never know; all she’d been told was to look for someone dressed in black, wearing the mask of a raven.

_An interesting choice, a raven… harbinger of death, keeper of mysteries_. _Like something Felix would choose._

Mercedes started when Annette fiercely shook her head at the pointless bent of her thoughts. Like Lord Rodrigue would send his last remaining son and heir on such a dangerous mission. Finding her self-exiled father on the dance floor as a reformed man, ready to return home, was more likely than seeing Felix Hugo Fraldarius. But her heart fluttered at the thought of him, anyway.

“Annie? Are you all right?” Mercedes whispered.

“I thought I... felt something crawling on me,” Annette said lamely. It was as good of an excuse as any.

Felix had certainly weaseled his way into her mind during their truncated year as classmates at Garreg Mach. Not that he had likely thought of her again, for all that he enjoyed embarrassing her by listening to her silly song lyrics when she hadn’t known he was there. Last she’d heard, he was one of his father’s frontline commanders in the war against Cornelia. Too important a personage for her now, just as he had likely always been before the world had fallen apart and forced them on opposite sides.

Mercedes looked unconvinced, but then her eyes focused on a point behind Annette in the room.

“Look there,” her voice was a whisper. “Is that him?”

Annette cast a glance over Mercie’s shoulder at her uncle, who was engrossed in conversation with Viscount Kleiman, and subtly dropped her blue satin fan on the ground.

“Oh dear, how clumsy of me!”

She pivoted ninety degrees in the act of retrieving the fan, and now had a clear view of where Mercy had been looking. A few feet from the long tables laden with an enviable dessert spread, lounging against the wall, was a man in black. He wore black pants and shirt beneath a heavy cloak with a row of feathers atop his shoulders, like epaulettes. His mask—simple and largely devoid of decoration, save for inky feathers—faced them head on. Annette knew in her bones that he was watching them.

For a second, it seemed as if the entire room between them narrowed, and Annette swallowed nervously. Was this the Fraldarius spy? Or had someone else come in the same costume? There was only one way to find out.

“Ready?” Mercie whispered, and Annette nodded, straightening to steel her suddenly rioting nerves.

“Oh my, look at the array of desserts at the refreshment table! I’ll fetch us a plate of goodies, Mercedes!” Annette announced.

“What a wonderful idea, Annie! Why don’t you get treats for your uncle as well?” Mercie tittered behind her own fan, and turned to engage Baron Dominic in chitchat before he could protest Annette’s departure.

With a purposeful gait (thank the Goddess she’d worn flats, despite being the shortest woman in the room as a result), Annette worked her way around the periphery of the dance floor. Raven Man didn’t move, arms crossed, his lean muscular frame unnaturally still in a room dominated by bold colors, boisterous voices, the rustling of silk and satin gowns, and heeled dancing slippers tapping across the floorboards. He drew her towards him like a beacon.

It felt like the longest walk of her life.

Memories resurfaced with each step, her body conjuring the giddiness she’d felt at the last ball she’d attended, the Garreg Mach winter ball, nearly five years ago. Like tonight, she’d entered arm-in-arm with Mercedes, and had quickly familiarized herself with the dessert buffet. Gone were the teenage ideas of romance and intrigue that had dominated the weeks leading to the winter ball: who would dance with whom, whose secret admiration might be revealed, whose hearts might break from rejection? Then, as now, Annette expected to be a spectator amongst the pagaentry; never a direct participant.

What a difference five years made. Back then, her biggest worry had been over what Felix would do: ignore her or make fun of her dance steps (more fencing footwork, Annette?) in front of everyone. In the end, she’d shared one dance with him, awkward and intense, with neither able to say more than five words one minute, and marveling over Claude von Riegan’s daring in engaging Professor Byleth to dance the next. It had been, like Felix himself, a study in contradictions. Equal parts thrilling and unfathomable; hot and cold.

But it had solidified him in her mind as the one man who could keep her on her toes, wondering what he’d do next, even if it held the power to hurt her. She’d hated him at times, for the sway he held over her, but at least she had the comfort of knowing he had no idea of his power—nor had he ever wielded it to deliberately harm her. Unlike her father, Felix was not a coward who ran away from confrontation, even when she’d called him evil and a villain. Deep down, she knew he was an honorable man.

Shaking her head, Annette forced Felix from her mind for the last time. Raven Man was less than five feet away. Everything she did had to be casual and above reproach to anyone watching, which meant passing him by and gathering the desserts as she’d said she’d do. Then, if she happened to “trip” over something in his vicinity, well, then it was purely common courtesy to speak to the stranger who’d been impacted by her clumsiness.

She felt the man’s gaze on her when she passed him, her eyes resolutely focused on the desserts, which, she had to admit, looked amazing. It wouldn’t be a chore to gather as many delectable varieties as she could for Mercie and herself. She lingered over the offerings in her normal fashion, restricting her selections to four for each plate.

Behind her, the orchestra she’d passed on her trek burst into song, signaling the first dance of the night, a waltz. Perfect timing, as numerous couples flocked to the dance floor to take their places. Her uncle wouldn’t be able to see her across the room, and Cornelia, whom she’d been keeping an eye out for, had joined the throng of dancers with her first partner.

“Quite a crowd tonight.”

Annette looked up, stunned to find Raven Man at her elbow, holding a plate with a single treat. The scent of pines wafted to her nose, and her body progressed through a combination of cold shock followed by heat so intense she was certain her cheeks would be red if the mask weren’t covering them. She knew that scent. But it couldn’t be...

“A little late in the season for the Common Bluebird to stock up for winter,” Raven Man continued, a sardonic lilt to his voice.

Annette froze; that was the code phrase she’d been instructed to listen for, and she gave the scripted reply.

“Faerghian birds have survived many a winter by planning ahead.”

Raven Man smiled slightly, his lips barely curled at the corners in an expression she’d seen many times and struggled to decipher. “An excellent insight for more than birds.”

Annette gulped and looked up into eyes the color of fine bourbon. It had to be him; against every odd she could imagine, Felix was here. Before she spoke freely, she had to make sure.

“You still don’t like sweets, do you?” she asked. “You’re the only person here with just one.”

He snorted, another telltale clue to his identity. “Steaks have always been of more interest to me than cakes.”

Annette felt like her heart had plummeted into her stomach and launched up into her throat. No one else would have the audacity to remember her ridiculous lyrics about her favorite foods. Teenage Annette and Adult Annette’s ball experiences had somehow merged together, and she didn’t know what to feel. Instead, she dropped her voice to a murmur, along with the subterfuge.

“What are you doing here? If you’re found…”

He roughly shook his head. “Follow me.”

Annette was stunned when he took her hand and pulled her away from the table, leaving her plates of dessert. He ignored her protests that she needed those treats for her cover story, and maneuvered them through the milling crowd around the edge of the dance floor, making a beeline for the grand balcony directly outside of the ballroom, on the opposite end of the long rectangular room from her uncle.

The choice of location was strategic. No one was outside while the first dance played, and they had the space entirely to themselves. Annette blinked in the moonlight, which was bright enough she could make out Felix’s features not hidden by his mask. A stiff autumn breeze buffeted them, and she wished she had more covering for her bare arms than elbow length satin gloves.

He thrust the plate with the lone treat towards her.

“Here, eat this. If anyone sees us, you felt faint in there and I helped you outside.”

Annette nodded, and shakily took the plate. He’d picked the one dessert she’d most wanted to try, a chocolate ganache confection drizzled in caramel, with a candied cherry on top.

She bit into it and sighed in pleasure; it was as delectable as it looked. In between bites, she relayed her news.

“In Verdant Rain Moon, my uncle got a visit from one of Cornelia’s spies, asking for his help locating a man who’s rumored to be single-handedly killing Imperial scouting forces. He’s taken down at least twenty over the past year, and scores more since ‘82.”

“A lone fighter killing that many men for three years?” Felix frowned. “How is that possible?”

Annette set the plate down on a nearby table and returned to where Felix stood, with that same unnatural stillness. “There’s more: he’s described as a one-eyed demon, tall, golden-haired, with immeasurable strength. A man who kills with no mercy, who shouts of revenge for the dead.”

Felix loosed an obscenity, and hastily apologized, which Annette waved off. She’d said something worse than that when she made the connection.

“The boar,” he ground out the name. “You’re saying he’s alive?”

“Whom else could it be? He must have escaped. The spy said the killings began in ‘82, but no one connected it to one man until last year. The Empire’s scattered forces haven’t been able to take him down, and no one can locate him—he always finds them.”

Felix began pacing, and Annette gave him the space to think.

“Does Cornelia know his identity?” he asked after a short silence.

“I think so, but she’s clever enough not to say his name unless she captures him. But how could Dimitri have escaped execution and gone undetected for so long? Wouldn’t he have gone straight to your father?”

Felix halted in front of her, hands on his hips. “Because he’s what I always said he was, a mindless beast that lives for death, to appease the damn voices in his head. I watched him the first time it happened, two years after Duscur. Goddess help us all if he’s alive and completely unfettered. He might attack anyone in his way.”

Annette was stunned by the open emotion in his speech, a combination of disgust, anger, and pain. She knew Felix and Dimitri hadn’t gotten along, but she’d never understood why. Now, it all made a sick kind of sense. A wave of sympathy rose inside her, to reach out and comfort Felix over his losses, but this wasn’t the time or place. All she could do was convince him not to give up.

“If he is alive, then he needs us to find him!” she said, pumping her fist for emphasis. “To bring him back.”

“Our fathers will certainly bang their heads into the ground trying,” Felix said with rancor. “But the only person who ever held that boar in check was the Professor, and she’s dead.”

That was true. Annette didn’t bother to deny it.

“We still have to find him,” she insisted. “Without Dimitri, Faerghus is dead. But if he truly lives, that would sway a lot of the noble houses that sided with Cornelia. We could win this civil war with him to rally around.”

Felix resumed pacing, and Annette watched the fluidity of his gait, how it told the story of his years of training, his footwork graceful and powerful. While he deliberated, she cataloged what had and hadn’t changed about him. Like the way his shoulders had filled out, making him seem taller, even though he'd always stood a full head above her. But his voice and that intoxicating whiff of pine, the sardonic way he spoke and half-smiled hadn’t changed. Although she couldn’t see his face under the mask, she wondered how much he’d grown into the elegant high cheekbones he’d inherited from his father.

“You’ve given me a lot more to think about than I’d expected,” he said ruefully.

Annette couldn’t hold back a snort of derision.

“Did you think I’d call you here for a mere trifle? Risk being found out over… crumbs and yums?!”

Her anger abruptly dissipated when Felix strode over and put his hands over her bare shoulders.

“I came without any expectations other than seeing you,” he said softly.

“Oh. Um…”

He squeezed her shoulders and dropped the contact. She immediately felt cold.

“There isn’t time, this news changes everything,” he said briskly. “We have to get going before they discover you missing.”

“Right, of course,” Annette said, feigning a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. It was ridiculous of her to want to stay by his side as long as possible, when every moment he lingered placed them both in jeopardy. Her mind knew that, but her foolish heart didn’t want to listen.

Felix reached inside his cloak and extracted a small leather satchel she hadn’t realized he’d concealed on his person. Inside was a tightly coiled rope with a grappling hook on the end. Moving silently like an assassin stalking a target, he attached it to the balustrade, which opened up over the dark manicured gardens two stories below. A perfect getaway, where even in the moonlight, his progress was unlikely to be marked by any guards patrolling the property. Every move he’d made tonight had been clearly planned, and she couldn’t help but admire it.

After testing the rope for security, Felix turned and crossed the distance between them; close enough she could feel the warmth of his body against her chilled flesh.

“I hope you’re comfortable climbing down,” he said. “I couldn’t come up with anything better.”

“Wait… what?” she stammered.

“We’ve got a carriage waiting in town, by the Windy Pines Inn,” he said in the same matter-of-fact tone. “It should take us about twenty minutes on foot, unless you were foolish enough to wear heels. I wish you’d worn something warmer.” He looked down at her feet, unperturbed that Annette’s mouth hung slack with shock.

“You want me to go with you?” Annette managed to find her voice, and it sounded suspiciously high-pitched. “Now?”

Felix crossed his arms and regarded her like she was a recalcitrant child. “Did you expect me to just leave you here? With the enemy?”

“But Mercie is in there! And my uncle…”

“You’ll be safest in Fraldarius territory. With m— all of us,” he said, voice insistent, and Annette didn’t know what to think. It was impossible. Sweet and impulsive, but impossible. She didn’t try to hide her disappointment.

“Oh, Felix… I can’t.”

“Why?” It was a command, not a question, but she answered it anyway.

“If I disappear tonight, it would draw more attention than we can afford. Your father—mine, too, if he’s with your army—needs to search for Dimitri. You can’t afford accusations of kidnapping the heir of House Dominic on top of everything. And Cornelia would find out I was in Fraldarius; she has spies everywhere.”

Felix was silent, his body so close to hers that Annette felt him stiffen. He knew she was right, and it shocked her that the realization deflated him the same way it had done to her. Had he really come all of this way to rescue her? Did it also hurt him to go their separate ways, yet again, when all she wanted was to flee into the night with him?

“Annette…” he reached out as though to touch her, and halted his hand midair. “I’m not sure I can get back here.”

Annette stunned herself by boldly laying her fingers over his wrist.

“I will see you again. I promise. Like if I…” she scrunched up her face, and the answer hit her, like a perfectly placed Sagittae. “I’ll tell my uncle that Mercie and I are going to the five year reunion! For the Blue Lions. Do you remember?”

He dropped his hand, and scowled. “You mean the agreement we made the night of the winter ball? You want to risk going to the ruins of Garreg Mach Monastery, which is rumored to be rife with bandits, because of a silly promise the boar made?”

“Think about it, Felix,” Annette shifted her feet in excitement, certain her idea would work. “What if Dimitri goes there, too? What if that’s our best way of finding him? It’s only two months away.”

Felix’s expression shifted, the look he’d always gotten when considering tactics. Annette warmed to her theme.

“We’ll tell the others to meet us there, everyone that the Professor recruited to our class. It’s going to work, I know it! This is the only way.”

“Damn it,” he muttered.

Acquiescence. She’d won, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. The next two months would feel longer than a year.

They froze when a loud voice carried from inside the ballroom; someone was headed to the balcony. Their time had run out.

“She had better be on that balcony, Mercedes, or I’m raising the alarm,” Baron Dominic said.

“Go!” Annette hissed, her blood pounding through her veins with the force of a hurricane. “I’ll buy you time to escape.”

Felix grabbed her shoulders and pressed his lips roughly against hers. It was the farthest thing from the romantic fantasy Annette had envisioned of what their first kiss would be like: the inside of her mask rubbed against her skin, and she felt like she’d been hit by a lightning spell. But the reality—that he was here, kissing her with abandon, despite the incoming danger—blew away every dream she’d ever had. The kiss lasted only seconds, and then he was gone, darting to the balustrade, before her malingering brain had processed what had happened.

“I’ll see you at Garreg Mach,” Felix said, lowering himself onto the rope. “Stay safe, Annette.”

Annette whirled and bolted to the ballroom entrance just in time to intercept her uncle and Mercedes.

“Oh, Mercie, Uncle Aethelbert! You gave me such a start!” she exclaimed, waving her fan rapidly. “Goddess, it was so hot in there, I just needed some air.”

“What did you think you were doing? Going off alone without a chaperone into the freezing night?” her uncle demanded. “What if some disreputable personage accosted you out here?”

“Then I’d have blown him off the balcony with Cutting Gale,” Annette said cheerfully, smiling at the shocked look on her uncle’s face. “Shall we return?”

“No more theatrics, my girl,” he said gruffly, and reentered the ballroom.

The two women paused at the threshold. Mercie shot her a questioning glance, and took Annette’s arm in hers.

“It was Felix,” Annette whispered. “He’s safely away.”

“Oh, Annie...” Mercedes breathed. “Are you all right?”

“Later, I promise. What matters is we’re going to the Blue Lions reunion. All of us will be together again.”

Mercie’s smile was as bright as the glittering chandeliers inside.

The rest of the night saw Mercedes relaxed and smiling gaily, and Annette drained of most of her usual reserves of cheer. It felt like part of her heart had stowed away with Felix when he’d gone. She wondered if he knew what he carried with him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inside of Felix Fraldarius's mind is a fascinating place. Plus a flashback scene from the Academy Phase I've always wanted to explore further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t played the DLC, so I’ve excluded those characters and storyline from this fic. I figured it was better to omit them than screw up. Otherwise, everything is as close to canon as I can make it. 
> 
> Sorry this took longer to post than I’d planned, I contorted myself into a pretzel figuring out what scene order worked best (the original third scene is now in the next chapter), and I wrote over 7000 words before I sorted it out. I usually obsessively outline anything I create, so writing this fic with only a loose idea of what I’m doing has been enlightening (these characters thankfully have a darn good idea of where they want to go). I also invented a random retainer for Rodrigue, but he’s not important enough to merit a tag. Thanks for bearing with me! 
> 
> Also, a quick shoutout to LunaChai’s work, she writes an excellent Rodrigue. I hope mine is half as good. Any mistakes are my own (a huge thank you to my beta reader!), and I always appreciate having them pointed out. Feedback is adored.

The most unsung asset of Felix Hugo Fraldarius’s personality was his ability to compartmentalize. His mind functioned like a library catalog, divided into an extensive list of categories he could access without hesitation. Unnecessary emotions he filed away into what he thought of as the treasury of his mind, which was locked more often than not. Logic ruled as much as he could muster it, although he’d never been able to master being the kind of cold, expressionless tactician like his former Professor, Byleth Eisner.

Inevitably, no matter how hard he tried to lock his emotions away, they leaked out, like mice scrabbling through every nook and cranny until they gained admittance. Anger, at least, was his boon companion, and he’d learned to manage it since Glenn’s death. It bolstered his defenses, served him like a shield, gave him the discipline he needed to keep fighting even when the odds of victory were long.

But on this night, as he fled into the grounds of the royal palace, away from Annette Fantine Dominic, the door to his treasury had been blasted clean off its hinges.

The anger was there, as always, but it was fused with some kind of desperation he had no name for, this manic impulse to go back and forcibly carry Annette out of that crowded ballroom, Cornelia be damned. It was madness. Raw, surging energy was too much like what drove the boar. Felix would not allow it.

He paused behind a large untrimmed hedgerow, and took precious seconds to steady his breathing before setting out again. He’d faced deadly opponents and survived, faced Glenn’s shocking death and his father’s glorification of it, but this shook him like Annette had _died_.

For a man who had mastered many aspects of battle and swordplay, the usually locked down parts of Felix loudly informed him that it was all for naught if he couldn’t protect the woman he’d come for.

_Pointless, all of this. You were raised to be the next Shield of Faerghus: turn your attention to staying alive._

While his mind worked to cut off the supply line feeding his frenetic emotions, his body automatically followed its years of training, carrying him silently through the now overgrown royal gardens, where he’d played as a child. He almost wished a guard would stumble across him; nothing settled his feelings like a good fight. But it was empty and silent in the gardens, and he easily maneuvered around the few men he heard rustling around the perimeter.

Felix used the grappling hook to scale the tall stone wall enclosing the grounds, and no alarms were raised. Once on the other side, he removed the mask and wiped the sweat off his brow. By rights, he ought to ditch the entire outfit here, in case anyone had seen him in the ballroom. But whatever foolhardy impulse had led him to kiss Annette held enough sway that he couldn’t part with the damned mask he’d worn when her soft lips met his for the first time. She’d gasped, ever so slightly, and he had no idea whether it had been a positive reaction. There was no way to know, but he would probably replay the moment hundreds of times anyway.

_Two long months. Assuming nothing goes wrong._

His mind tormented him further, recalling how beautiful Annette had looked in her ensemble, how well the Common Bluebird theme had fit her. Light-hearted, cheerful, and too easy to take for granted, all of which he’d foolishly done till she was gone. Like the birds, Annette was only a transient part of his life, a happy songbird he could appreciate from afar. It was dangerous to view her as more.

He’d chosen the raven for his costume as a reminder: that for all of the forces out there he chose to fight, eventually he was going to run into an opponent he couldn’t defeat, but would still die trying. His future wasn’t to grow old by a hearth with an ornamental wife and their spawn crawling over him. He had always been willing to risk the moment of being killed by a better opponent; that alone had given him purpose since Glenn’s death. Annette’s place in his stark world was uncomfortable, uncertain—especially with this stupid urge to keep her safe when she was perfectly capable of defending herself. No matter what his logical side put forth as evidence, he was drawn to her like a drowning man to a siren’s dirge.

“The hell with it,” he muttered, and shoved the mask inside a capacious pocket inside his cloak.

Felix pulled his black hair out of the short ponytail he always wore, shook it out and hurriedly straightened the strands, and retied the band. Then he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, obscuring as much of his face as possible. At this time of year, his outfit shouldn’t stand out; most people would be wearing cloaks tonight, hurrying to get out of the cold. He looked the part of a prosperous merchant, despite the somber palette, and he planned to proceed through the city with that persona.

Once in the streets of Fhirdiad, it all became simple. He’d mapped the circuitous route to the Windy Pines Inn well in advance, and it hardly required thought to navigate the streets, crossing at odd points to blend in with the crowd, just in case one of Cornelia’s spies was tracking him. He’d strategically picked spots where he could hide and wait for minutes at a time—never the same amount—to see if anyone might be following. Nothing, every time. He’d been off his game, but it hadn’t cost him the victory.

Finally, he spied the waiting carriage, which he’d secured only because of Annette. He hated the damn things for himself, preferring to ride his own horse, to feel the wind on his cheeks, tussling with his hair like it, too, was battling him.

Garen Tontine, his father’s long time retainer, lowered his sword when Felix pulled open the door.

“At last,” he said. “But… you’re alone. Where is the lady?”

Felix shook his head.

“Change of plans,” he said. “Do you have paper and owls here? I need to send word to my father.”

“Always, my lord,” Garen said, patting a sheaf of parchment on the seat beside him. “We can send an owl to His Grace once we’re outside of Fhirdiad.”

“Good.” Felix cleared his throat. “I need you to send Gilbert Pronislav to me. I have a task for him.”

Gilbert Pronislav, the assumed name of Annette’s father, Gustave Dominic, was not one that Felix had uttered except in dire circumstances. Garen’s startled look was evidence of that. Not for the first time, Felix wondered what his father might have told Garen about the last time Felix had been forced to endure Gilbert’s presence.

Even worse than forcing himself to stay civil, Felix had to eat crow and inform Gilbert that his own daughter had confirmed the rumors he and Lord Rodrigue had relentlessly pursued: the boar lived after all. Both men had fixated on that belief ever since Cornelia’s hasty execution, when she had refused all requests to view the corpse. With Cornelia joining the hunt, time was running out to find the beastly Dimitri, and they needed all the help they could get.

Felix leaned against the cushioned back of the carriage with a sigh, and they set off. The next two months promised to be sheer misery. But this was war, and he’d gotten through the worst it had thrown at him so far. He thought he’d made his peace with the circumscribed nature of his life, filled with battle, strategy, and sitting alongside his old man while he maneuvered the political chessboard like the master he was. He had been fine, till Annette once again disrupted his world. In ten minutes, she’d rendered his fortifications to a smoking heap, and he didn’t know where he’d find the reserves to reconstruct them.

* * *

29 Horsebow Moon, 1180

Officers Academy, Garreg Mach Monastery

Annette Fantine Dominic unwittingly began her conquest of Felix’s cerebral cortex in the last week of Horsebow Moon.

If he was honest, the siege had begun the first time he’d heard her singing. He’d had no real opinion of her before that: an earnest overachiever, who was an asset on the battlefield, where she excelled at Reason. As for her appearance, Felix supposed she was pretty enough to appeal to someone who favored redheads with effervescent cheer. But her dossier that he’d filed in his mental library under “vanilla and predictable” exploded when he’d entered the greenhouse to her ditty about “cakes and steaks” and “crumbs and yums” six weeks prior.

That whole episode had flummoxed him. After some questionable experiences with other girls—from Bernadetta von Varley’s conviction he was trying to kill her, to Dorothea Arnault trying to lure him into her husband-seeking net, to old friend Ingrid Galatea’s _glorification_ of his brother Glenn’s death—Annette Dominic was a complete wild card. Completely free in expressing herself the first minute, embarrassed and apologetic the second, and fiercely aggressive in the third. It was like fighting an opponent with so many skill sets, there was no way to predict what tactic might come next.

That might have been all, except two weeks later, Annette had materialized outside his room, trying to _bribe_ him into forgetting what he’d heard—by doing his chores and offering to buy him steak. When he’d honestly told her those things wouldn’t make him forget her music (because he actually found it amusing), she’d pulled a Bernadetta and raged at him that he was evil and a villain and she hated him. His supposed crime? Telling the whole student body about her lyrics. (She stormed off before he could point out that he trained in all his spare time and had no interest in socializing.)

Goddess protect him from Academy girls! What the hell kind of parents did they have to cause so many to see humiliation threatening around every corner? Up till then, Annette had seemed so _normal_ around everyone else. What made her tick? Or was it just his bad luck that everything he said seemed to set her off?

Felix had kept a wide berth from her outside of class and battle. If he happened to glance her way a few times when she was laughing with her friends or tripping over her own feet, well, it was part of the mind game of learning one’s opponent.

Truthfully, if Flayn hadn’t disappeared, Felix would never have allowed Annette an opening strike.

But Flayn did vanish from the face of Fodlan in Horsebow Moon, and no amount of searching had found any trace of her. Her brother, Seteth, was a shell of himself, revealing he actually had a heart beneath that stern bureaucratic exterior. The Knights of Seiros, the Church’s standing army, had been dispatched to cities and villages far and wide, and found nothing. A week had passed with no news—and no ransom demands. The boar and Professor Byleth smelled a rat, and hypothesized that Flayn was likely hidden on the extensive monastery grounds.

They had summoned all of the Blue Lions to a meeting after dinner. Everyone had volunteered to help search for Flayn the next morning, talking over each other in a disorganized clamor which left Felix shaking his head. The other students had hied off, invigorated over their plans to search every single nook and cranny, and Felix had gone to the training grounds. He did his best thinking with a blade in hand.

Two hours into his regimen, he made the disconcerting realization that it was 9 o’clock, and he was still alone; that made three nights in a row that Professor Jeritza had missed their regular sparring session. His feet came to a halt at the end of his last form, sword positioned in Hanging Parry Six, and it struck him hadn’t seen Jeritza for longer than that.

For the first time since the academy year began, Felix skipped the rest of his training session, shoved his weapons into his leather duffel without cleaning them, and returned to his room to freshen up. Then he headed for the office of the man he hoped could answer whether Jeritza was on a mission or otherwise indisposed.

“No faculty of the Officers’ Academy is currently away from the monastery,” Jeralt Eisner, Captain of the Knight of Seiros (and Professor Byleth Eisner’s father) said in answer to Felix’s inquiry. “Do you have something to report, Lord Fraldarius?”

“It’s Felix,” he said automatically, frowning at hearing his title. It was bad enough getting it shoved in his face whenever he was home; the worst of Glenn’s unwanted hand-me-downs. “And there's no problem. I just missed an appointment with him.”

“Hmm,” Jeralt looked at him, gaze probing, but Felix kept his expression mild. Short of outright rebuking a Duke's son, Jeralt couldn't compel further testimony without a diplomatic headache, and decided to let the matter drop. “Well, if you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

Felix nodded, and took his leave, his thoughts whirling. The monastery was surprisingly quiet; the majority of students had taken to their rooms early instead of engaging in the usual evening shenanigans. Flayn’s disappearance had upset everyone—it was amazing some of the more foolish girls hadn’t locked themselves in their rooms and proclaimed their fears of being next (other than Bernadetta, who did that daily without provocation).

Felix headed towards Jeritza’s quarters, which were next to the Knights’ Hall. He knocked on the door, but there was no sound or light within. He peeked through the moss-covered windows (didn’t the man have someone to clean them?), but all he could make out in the dappled moonlight was a spartan furniture arrangement, and no personal items on display.

What kind of man was Jeritza, and why had Felix never wondered about that before? The sword instructor was brilliant with a blade, for sure, although he preferred the longer reach of the lance, like the boar. Beyond Jeritza’s aggressiveness in a bout, Felix knew nothing. Not even why the man always wore a mask covering the upper half of his face, like a veritable bandit hero of legend. No one knew the answer to that, although speculation ranged from a gruesome battle injury to childhood deformity.

Felix’s uneasiness grew. He didn’t have enough evidence to start making accusations, but Jeritza had gone to the top of his list of suspects. He’d reserve judgment until he’d searched the entire monastery, beginning with the town. Perhaps the man was secretly into women and gambling? There was no way to know without checking everywhere, which would take most of the night.

Felix groaned at the prospect of a couple hours of sleep on what was probably a wild goose chase. But it had to be done. One didn’t skimp on the hard parts of training because of discomfort.

Grumbling to himself, he continued south towards the marketplace by way of the stables. He froze when a voice rang out in the darkness ahead of him.

“‘He prowls through the streets, scythe in hand, scaring all the people of the land… The Death Knight, scary and tall, his blade poised high, awaiting your fall.’ Oh, why am I singing about something so scary in the dark?!”

Annette stepped into a shaft of moonlight, and Felix blinked at the sight, struck by how the light dulled the bright orange of her hair and simultaneously brightened the blue-gray shade of her eyes. She looked like a mischievous woodland spirit, and it was… cute.

“What are you doing?” he asked more harshly than he’d intended, too shocked by his mind’s application of that word to Annette Fantine Dominic. “Cute” was not part of his lexicon.

“Bah!” Annette’s feet actually left the ground before her eyes fixed on his face. “Don’t kill me, Mr. Death Knight! Oh, it’s you. I was— well…”

“Searching for the Death Knight.”

“No! Erm…”

Felix took a moment to study her before answering, torn between disdain and amusement that Annette’s idea of stalking the Death Knight involved a picnic basket of freshly baked pastries.

“Let me guess, you’re planning on giving him that basket of sweets to convert him from his evil ways?”

“No way, these are mine!” she protested, clutching the handle. Her expression shifted to something more thoughtful. “Actually, I wonder if that might work…”

Felix smirked at the very idea—only Annette would take his snarky comment seriously. Her eyes jumped back to him, and she blushed.

“Oh, you’re making fun of me again!” she said, pointing an accusing finger inches from his face. “Of course you are. Ugh.”

“Well, seeing as you physically held me back the first time we encountered him, I wasn’t expecting you to seek him out for a fight,” he said, unfazed by her attempt to change the subject. “And certainly not without me there to keep you alive.”

“I’m not interested in challenging every person I meet to a duel when I have an actual life to lead,” she retorted, showing she had her fair share of snark quotient at her command. “You really should get a hobby.”

Two could play at that game.

“I have no talent to speak of, and no shame in admitting it,” Felix said smoothly. “You can do the singing for both of us while we search.”

“Wait, what?” Annette blinked up at him, reminding him of a wide-eyed owlet. “You’re going to help me look for him?”

“What kind of swordsman would I be if I left you to face him alone? Are you coming?”

He started walking, and she quickly fell into step beside him.

“Do you believe he took Flayn?” he asked, to break the awkward silence that fell between them.

“Yes. I mean, who else would do it? Everyone who’s a possible suspect has been accounted for or is out searching for her.”

“Everyone except Jeritza,” Felix muttered.

“What?! Are you sure?” Annette repeated the owlet routine; it was surprisingly effective in holding his attention. “Why haven’t you told the Professor yet?”

“Because I haven’t looked everywhere,” he said, a note of defensiveness in his tone. “He’s missed our normal training time three nights in a row, and that’s… unusual.”

“Maybe he’s on a mission?”

Felix shook his head. “Not according to Captain Jeralt.”

Annette’s face took on the look he’d seen whenever she was working through a complex calculation. Not that he’d been watching her study in the library.

“If only we knew what the culprit wanted,” she said. “There has to be a reason he took Flayn, since it’s clearly not ransom. If everyone had shut up and pooled their information at the Blue Lions’ meeting, I could have started searching for patterns.”

Felix grunted in approval, glad someone else had recognized what a waste of time that meeting had been.

“What’s the value in patterns?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Her eyes widened. “It’s huge! Patterns exist everywhere, even if we’re not aware of them. The way we structure our days, react to things we encounter, all of it can settle into something we can numerically isolate and quantify. In this instance, we’ll need to make a list of anyone who’s acting out of character or has significantly deviated from their routine, even those people who are doing it from fear. It’s really not much different from the calculations we do in Reason, knowing what size and spread you want from the spell, taking weather and terrain into effect...” she trailed off and shot him an unreadable glance through her lashes—which Felix was _not_ noticing the length of. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s only rambling if the information is useless.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, ducking her head. “I think.”

“I’ve never thought of patterns that way before,” he heard himself saying, to set her at ease. The smile she flashed was genuine, and he felt his heart skip an errant beat.

What in the Goddess’s great sky was _wrong_ with him? Annette’s company when she wasn’t angry at him was… interesting, but not something that should have disordered his brain. An active, brilliant mind lurked beneath her rosy-cheeked exterior, another contradiction that had unsettled him, and shouldn’t have. He’d simply misjudged her; her dossier required updating in his mental catalog.

Felix was relieved when the marketplace came into view, providing a point of focus from his errant thoughts. He was here to find Jeritza—or the Death Knight, whomever felt like showing up first—not to waste time thinking about his unexpected comrade.

“Okay, where to first?” Annette asked.

“Everywhere. We can’t leave any location unsearched.”

“Well, you can scratch a few off your list, they’ve closed early ever since the rumors intensified about the Death Knight taking people off the streets at night,” Annette said, and rattled off the names of several taverns and restaurants.

Felix realized he was staring at her slack-jawed, and deliberately closed his mouth.

“How do you know all this?”

Annette flushed and glanced at her feet before answering.

“I _might_ have been on night patrol in town for the last week.”

Felix raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “By yourself?”

“Only when Ashe or Mercie aren’t available,” she said quickly. “We were taking shifts for a while, but they’re both too worn out. I’m used to being awake at night, so… might as well keep at it, right?”

“You should have asked me sooner.” He was often up late, training.

“Oh. I thought—never mind,” she smiled sheepishly. “Thanks for being here now. Next time I’ll make sure there’s something savory for you to eat.”

That, again?

“You don’t have to bribe me with food,” Felix snapped.

“It’s not like that!” she protested. “Do you always assume people have an ulterior motive behind everything they say?”

Felix blinked, and Annette landed her first intention attack before he’d realized he needed to parry.

“I don’t mean it like you’re some calculating villain… even though I have called you that, but I didn’t mean a _real_ villain. Anyway, I meant that it must be exhausting having to question everyone’s intentions all of the time. If that was my life, I know I’d be lonely. Not that my life has been a bed of roses, but at least I know where I stand with everyone. It makes it easier to accept whatever comes.” She sighed, clearly thinking about something painful, but a familiar kind of pain. “I offer people food because it’s important to me, so I like to share the enjoyment. That’s all it is—no strings attached.”

Felix’s tongue felt glued to the bottom of his mouth, his eyes unblinking. Who was this girl, who said whatever popped into her head at any given moment, but slipped in a devastating observation like a killing blow he didn’t see coming? He’d never thought about how much he distrusted people, because that meant examining the roiling emotions he kept locked away. He’d always reacted to what people said or did—he wasn’t a heartless golem—but was it from a position of strategy like he’d always thought, or willful ignorance?

Not knowing the answer felt like the worst kind of failure—that, for all of his drive to build his strength through training and battle, he’d never fully accounted for training the strength of his mind.

Annette lapsed into silence, but it wasn’t unpleasant, more like she realized on some level that he was digesting what she’d said. He never would have credited her with that kind of restraint and understanding, when so much of what she did was voluble.

While the hours ticked by in their search of the town, with minimal communication, Felix realized she’d offered him something he’d never experienced—companionship without expectations. For all that he’d been close to the boar, Ingrid, and Sylvain Gautier as children, there had always been an underlying awareness of who they were expected to be (something Ingrid in particular never lost sight of). In contrast, Annette was simply there, undemanding, and that shocked him like being on the receiving end of one of her Cutting Gales.

When they finally parted before dawn, weary and unsuccessful, Felix heard himself offering to accompany her the next night. Annette’s smile seemed brighter than the sky lightening above them.

“Thank you. I’ll look forward to getting back at it this evening!” she said with a fist pump. “But you should talk to the Professor about Jeritza. I think it’s important that she knows.”

“Hmph. I’ll think about it.”

“Well… goodnight then. I mean, good morning. Ugh, I hope we can eke out a few hours of sleep. I really hope I don’t pass out in my breakfast.”

Felix tried to keep his mind from forming the image, but it was there: Annette with a dreamy expression on her face, cheek smashed against a stack of cakes. He chuckled.

“Hey… did you just laugh now?” she demanded, startling him.

“No!” he scowled. “You must be hearing things. Probably from exhaustion.”

“Will wonders never cease? Felix Fraldarius has a sense of humor,” Annette grinned, and Felix felt his cheeks inexplicably grow warm. “The sky might fall any minute.”

If it did, Felix hoped it found him and knocked some sense back into his malfunctioning brain.

They didn’t end up searching together that evening, because Professor Byleth took Felix’s advice and checked out Jeritza’s quarters herself, finding irrefutable evidence of his involvement with Flayn’s kidnapping. That afternoon, on two hours’ sleep, Felix finally got to fight the Death Knight, with Annette right behind him, supporting him with her magic (although the Professor got the disarming blow). But they’d done it—saved Flayn—as a team, and it had actually felt good to work with dependable comrades. Only later did Felix realize he’d sacrificed more than one night’s sleep—his indifference had shattered as effectively as Annette incinerated her targets during training.

* * *

21 Wyvern Moon, 1185

Father,

I have news. Headed home the usual way.

—F

* * *

22 Wyvern Moon, 1185

Felix didn’t have long to wait before Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius found him after they’d crossed the border into Fraldarius lands. His old man—who was in his late forties and looked younger—rarely lived at home, preferring to rotate between the established military strongholds of their standing army, awaiting whatever new force Cornelia might send their way.

Wordlessly, Felix followed Garen out of the coach, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs after a day of hard travel. Lord Rodrigue looked put together as always when he pulled up on his horse, wearing what Felix thought of as his Power Behind the Throne outfit—dark green ducal robes and fur-shouldered cloak in gray and sage green. Understated colors which made the Duke appear approachable and non-threatening—what a joke that was. The old man was ruthless, wily as a fox, and always formally polite, even when he was about to stab you in the neck.

Felix crossed his arms—he was still stuck in his black getup and carried the dust of two days’ travel—and watched Garen rush forward to take the reins of his father’s horse so he could dismount. They exchanged words, and Garen remained with the horse when Lord Rodrigue came forward to stand next to Felix.

“What news have you brought?” he asked.

They hadn’t bothered with greetings in years, preferring to get directly to the heart of the matter. It was one area where Felix found himself in agreement with his father’s values.

“The boar lives after all,” he said, a sardonic edge to his voice.

“He’s been sighted?”

Felix scowled at the joy in his father’s voice. He couldn’t recall Rodrigue ever sounding that relieved about Felix’s existence, not since the Tragedy of Duscur. It disgusted him that still had the power to affect him after all these years. He shoved that old pain into his treasury and slammed the door.

“Not in person,” he said stiffly. “Rumors abound of a tall, golden-haired man killing entire Imperial battalions, screaming for revenge for the fallen. Do the math.”

“And you trust your source?” Rodrigue asked, mimicking Felix’s posture.

Felix snorted. “I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t. She listened in on a conversation between her uncle and one of Cornelia’s spies. The intelligence is Cornelia’s, offered when they asked the Baron for his aid.”

“Well, then…” Rodrigue stroked the wispy line of his beard in contemplation. “His Highness must be found, at once.”

“I’ve already sent for Gilbert. He’ll attend me at Castle Fraldarius whenever he gets back.”

“Excellent,” Rodrigue straightened. “You’ve done very well, Felix.”

The rare compliment took Felix aback. That inexplicable emotion was also booted into the treasury.

“Hmph. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

He moved to turn away when Rodrigue’s next words froze him in place.

“Garen told me of your plan to bring Baron Dominic’s niece back here,” he said, his voice dangerously mild. “Did you consider the political implications of such a move?”

“I did.”

“And…?” Rodrigue raised a disbelieving brow.

Felix returned his unyielding stare, offering nothing.

“That is all the answer I am to expect from you?” Rodrigue asked. “Does he mistreat her?”

“Apparently not,” Felix shrugged.

Rodrigue nodded once.

“I’m glad she had enough sense to recognize the position she’d have put her House in by leaving.”

Felix couldn’t hide his irritation over his father’s underhanded insult about Annette’s loyalties. “As I recall it, she was more concerned about Cornelia redoubling her efforts against all of us, by claiming I’d ‘kidnapped’ her.”

Rodrigue’s smile made Felix realize he’d walked into a well laid trap.

“Quite astute,” he said. “This is Gustave’s daughter?”

“Yes,” Felix barked.

“And you’re… friends?”

“I knew her from the Academy.”

“I see,” Rodrigue said, maintaining that same half smile. Felix wasn’t giving him anything else to use as ammunition in whatever game they were playing now.

A pregnant silence formed while father and son took each other’s measure, looking for signs of weakness. At last, Rodrigue broke it.

“Well, she certainly has moxie, this friend of yours. Spying on her own uncle for our cause… I can see why you’d want to keep her safe.”

_Passive aggressive this time; not a good look._

“You’re imagining things, old man,” Felix said.

“I stand corrected, then,” Rodrigue bowed. He was smirking when he straightened. Felix was done playing this round of the emotional chess game his father thrived in.

“I’m going home,” he said. “But I’ll go to Garreg Mach in Ethereal Moon, for the Blue Lions Reunion.”

At last, he had the satisfaction of seeing surprise on his father’s face.

“A… reunion?”

“We all promised five years ago. Annette thinks the boar will be there. If he can’t be found before then, it might be our best chance of intercepting him.”

“Indeed,” Rodrigue’s voice held a note of approval. “Gustave’s daughter has a sound tactical mind.”

“Gustave had nothing to do with it,” Felix growled.

Rodrigue continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“One day, I imagine she’ll make a very good wife for someone with political aspirations.”

That comment felt like a punch to the jaw. Marriage for any of his old Academy classmates, in the middle of war, was a shocking concept. But the idea of Annette saddled with some faceless fop for political gain made him want to cut someone bloody.

“Is that all you think of? Alliances?” Felix spat. “It makes me sick.”

Lord Rodrigue chuckled in amusement; victory to the old man in their chess match, once again.

“We can’t have that,” he said lightly. “It’s good to see you, son. I’ll recall you to the front if Cornelia sends more troops.”

“Hopefully they’re worthy to cross blades with,” Felix said. He gave his father the barest nod of acknowledgment and stalked back to the carriage.

* * *

Garen walked up to His Grace’s side, horse in tow. For a moment, both men watched Felix disappear into the carriage.

“He worries me,” Rodrigue said, and sighed. “Still so angry and myopic.”

“I think there’s hope for more than one focus, Your Grace,” Garen said, handing over the reins. “He was unsettled when he came back from the palace.”

“Interesting. Gustave’s daughter... we’ll have to see how things play out, on all fronts,” he said. “Do everything you can to get Gustave what he needs to find His Highness. When I know Dimitri is truly safe, I’ll rest easier, for Lambert’s sake.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Garen said, and rejoined Felix in the carriage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette wonders if kisses tell truths or lies. Academy era Felix and Annette bond over spell glyphs and their disappointing fathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the chapter that deeply explored Annette’s relationship with her father, and how it’s impacted her nine years after Gilbert’s departure, but my scene list kept expanding, and then the scenes got longer than I expected… and here we are. Mild trigger warning of abandonment trauma, but probably not enough for a tag yet. Two scenes originally slated for this chapter are now kicking off the next one, so hey, at least chapter 4 is half written! Fanfiction Life writing as a pantser instead of my normal obsessive planner is wondrous strange. Minimal beta this time, apologies if there are glaring errors—feel free to mention them in the comments. 
> 
> Also, I moved up the B support for Annette and her father because it fit best where I set it in my Academy Phase timeline. Just wanted to clarify that in case anyone wondered—their B support can take place pre-timeskip, but it would take some work to build it (lots and lots of shared meals).

21 Wyvern Moon, 1185

Fhirdiad

Philosophy had never been one of Annette’s best subjects. So much of it was subjective, and her mind preferred to deal in incontrovertible fact. Math grounded her world: it had clear rules and applications, and it didn’t (usually) result in sudden, painful surprises. But philosophy, classic literature—anything whose hallmarks were uncertainty and myriad levels of interpretation—frequently sent her into a tailspin, wondering exactly what the _rules_ were, and how many there were to learn.

Had a philosopher ever written a treatise on how to tell when a kiss held meaning beyond the physical act? Was there a definitive table of probabilities, a perfect equation that told a girl what the instigator’s true intentions were? Annette needed expert insight, and she needed it yesterday. Sadly, she doubted even the world’s greatest thinker could decipher the intricate mind of Felix Fraldarius.

She sure as heck couldn’t.

“What an evening,” Mercedes sighed, leaning back against the leather seat of the Dominic carriage, ball mask on the seat beside her.

Annette sat down across from her, and gratefully removed her own mask. Huddling in her cloak—it was surprisingly chilly inside the small enclosed space—she rubbed her fingers over her temples, willing her exhausted mind to keep functioning until she found a mattress to collapse on. Fortunately, they didn’t have a long wait. The vehicle jerked into motion when the coachman coaxed the horses into a canter, and Annette felt the tension begin to leave her body.

It was past 3 am when Baron Dominic agreed that his niece and her friend were too spent from hours of dancing and socializing. He’d grudgingly consented to send his carriage to take them to Mercedes’s humble apartment above the merchant business she worked in, even though he was staying overnight in the palace with most guests (and had expected his niece to do the same). It meant the world to Annette that Mercie had offered her a place to sleep where she wouldn’t be under constant surveillance. She hadn’t expected the invitation at all; not with things between them still unresolved.

“I’m danced out for life,” Annette said with false cheer. “I wish we’d had more time at the dessert table.”

“The palace kitchens employ true artists,” Mercie agreed. “I asked a maid to take a note to the pastry chefs asking for the ingredients in the chocolate cherry ganache, but she was too afraid to leave her post. Hopefully I’ll get another chance one day. I’d love to replicate them.”

Annette smiled, wishing this was a normal conversation, not superficial cover disguising what they both secretly fretted over and held within. Even though Mercedes now featured more prominently in her life after years of only exchanging letters, they hadn’t patched up the big fight they’d had at the Academy. It rose like a specter in the dimly lit carriage, feeding the steady supply of guilt and inadequacy Annette cultivated like cash crops—her _If Only I Had_ _Done This Instead_ collection of regrets. She had enough volumes to fill a shelf in the Garreg Mach library.

Still, she said nothing, afraid to raise the subject that Mercie might not even care about any longer.

“I now understand why Caspar was so driven at the Academy, after dancing with his brother tonight,” Mercedes said, filling the silence.

Annette’s interest stirred at the name of their former classmate, Caspar von Bergliez. He’d been nice enough, hard-working, worn his heart on his sleeve, and hadn’t muddled her brain cells with a single smirk, unlike the ever elusive Felix Fraldarius.

The Professor had recruited multiple students out of the Black Eagles House (as well as the Golden Deer House) over their year at the Academy, and Caspar had been one of the earliest defectors, with Dorothea Arnault. They’d all been shocked when Professor Byleth had enticed the one and only Ferdinand von Aegir, one of the most pretentious noblemen Annette had met, near the end of the year. However, given his father’s position as Prime Minister of the Adrestian Empire before the war, Annette fully expected he’d taken Emperor Edelgard’s side.

She had half-expected to see Ferdinand or someone from the Black Eagles at the ball tonight, with many Imperial nobles in attendance. Oddly, the only face she knew from the Academy was Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, whose father had split from the leadership of the Leicester Alliance and sided with the Empire. Talk about a self-satisfied ponce. At least Lorenz was a good dancer. Her aching toes had gotten a break during their set.

“I didn’t see Caspar there,” Annette said, aware she’d been lost in her thoughts too long. “What’s his brother like?”

“An oldest son who’s more than content with his lot in life,” Mercedes said. “Caspar was hot-headed, but I never minded it because he had such a keen sense of justice driving him. His brother wears his crest like it makes him the goddess’s gift.”

“Why are most crest-bearers like that?” Annette asked, shaking her head. “At least the men, anyway. It makes me miss Sylvain’s antics a little, he was always good for a laugh.”

Mercedes sobered at the mention of the tall red-headed heir of House Gautier.

“Sylvain was the great pretender,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone who hated his crest more.”

“I should hate mine. But I never have, since it’s part of me, and that would mean hating myself,” Annette admitted, staring down at her gloved fingers. “I do despise the _culture_ of crests, though—how those of us who have them are only valued for keeping the legacy going through strategic marriage. I think that’s trapped both men and women, even though we largely have it worse.”

She looked up at Mercie, who regarded her with the same serious expression—one that appeared genuine instead of superficially polite—and decided to take a gamble. She desperately missed the ease of their early friendship, and hoped that revealing one of her deepest fears would encourage Mercie to feel safe enough to reconnect.

“My uncle was very keen on the idea of suitors tonight. I’m worried he’s going to start pushing someone at me soon.”

Mercedes reached across the space between them and lightly touched her hand. It wasn’t the friendly handclasp of old, but it still felt comforting.

“Oh, Annie… how many noblemen did he have you dance with?”

“I lost count,” Annette said, turning her hand over and gripping her friend’s fingers lightly, in case Mercedes chose to retract her hand. Thankfully, Mercie didn’t drop the contact or her gaze.

“And you didn’t get to dance with the person you really wanted, did you?”

Boy, she hadn’t lost her powers of observation, despite the distance between them these past four years. Annette fumbled for words, and heard them vomiting out of her mouth.

“He wasn’t there for dancing, only infor— I mean… Oh.” Her cheeks flushed, bright enough to be visible in the dim lantern light.

Mercedes gripped her fingers, the pressure reassuring.

“Are you ready to tell me what happened with Felix?”

Annette blinked away the extra moisture forming behind her eyelids. “You really… don’t mind? I mean…”

“Of course not. Assuming you’re comfortable talking about it. I don’t want to presume.”

They looked at each other intently, and Annette saw that, beneath her friendly smile, Mercedes was as nervous as her. Putting her confused heart on display was scary, but it was worth it if it helped repair their friendship.

Annette took a deep breath, and amazed herself with how easily it all spilled out. How Felix had reacted to the news about Dimitri’s being alive, then admitted he’d come to see her without expecting major intelligence in return. Her total shock when he’d tried to get her to leave with him, followed by his grudging acceptance to rendezvous at the Blue Lions reunion instead. Throughout her tale, Mercie’s hands gently held her own, and her eyes were kind and understanding.

“Oh my,” she said when Annette lapsed into rosy-checked silence. “So you’re confused because he wanted to take you back to Fraldarius territory?”

“That, and… well…” Annette silently cursed being red-headed and fair; her cheeks were blazing crimson.

“He didn’t really... Oh, he did!” Annette was startled when Mercedes clapped her hands together in glee. “He kissed you!”

“For one second! Right before you and Uncle Aethelbert came onto the terrace,” she buried her burning cheeks in her hands. “It was a spur of the moment thing, and I’m tying myself into knots over nothing. Felix doesn’t see me like that.”

It had to be nothing. Back at the Academy, he’d been all sharp edges and an even sharper tongue, although he’d been kinder to her than most, especially Prince Dimitri. After the war had begun, he’d returned to Fraldarius territory to fight alongside his father, and she’d heard next to nothing from him, except for a terse note on her birthday every year. She’d pathetically saved each one.

Felix confused her, and always had, for that combination of prickly defensiveness and open acceptance he vacillated between. Why was she always drawn to men with the power to wound her? She wasn’t sure she could entirely lay the blame at her father’s door—it was her own choice in allowing herself to be the lodestar to Felix’s North.

“Do you really believe a kiss is the act of someone indifferent towards you?” Mercedes asked gently.

Annette peeked at her through her fingers. “He probably did it because I’d wrecked his plans, and he couldn’t throw me over the balcony like he wanted to. My screams of horror would have ruined his escape.”

Mercedes sat back against the seat and giggled. “What an image! But in all seriousness, didn’t he care enough to want to take you somewhere he knew was safer?”

“Um. I guess so?” Annette dropped her hands and sighed. “I’m still baffled over why he felt I needed rescuing.”

“Dear Annie… What are you so worried about?” Mercie leaned forward, features intent. “You seem equally afraid that he might like you as you are that he might not.”

“I don’t know! My feelings are a chaotic jumble, and there are so many complications. We’re on opposite sides now, even though I would gladly fight alongside him if the choice were mine,” Annette said, and hugged her arms around herself. “But my mother and my uncle… it’s so difficult to know what to do. Mercie, be honest: if Felix felt anything for me, why didn’t he write regularly before my uncle sided with Cornelia?”

“Felix has never seemed comfortable in his own skin,” Mercedes mused. “And who knows how limited his life has become since he returned home? He’s not here for us to ask, so let’s focus on more practical matters: what _you_ can do right now. If it were me, I’d start by examining my own feelings. What do you want from your life, if you controlled your own destiny? At least being stuck in Dominic Manor will give you plenty of time to think.”

“That’s far too true. Thank you so much for listening, Mercie. It means a lot.”

Mercedes beamed, and the carriage seemed to warm up from the glow of her smile.

“And... we have a reunion to plan!” Annette added, determined to lighten the mood.

Her worries could keep till daylight. Thank the goddess she knew that Mercie was here— _really_ here. Knowing she wasn’t alone made her burdens light enough to bear.

“We do, indeed!” Mercie said. “Now, tell me everyone you’re planning on contacting, so I can help.”

* * *

13 Guardian Moon, 1181

Officers Academy, Garreg Mach Monastery

Tears blinded Annette’s vision, and the stone walls that surrounded her fleeing form wavered drunkenly. She clutched the wooden doll in her right hand, a figure her father had just handed her, arrogantly thinking she was still the eight year old girl who adored any gift he carved her. After months of avoiding her in the long hallways and echoing chambers of Garreg Mach, the one time he finally acknowledged her was for a _childish_ whim? Where was the explanation behind his actions these past four years, a clear answer for why had he left them behind? _That_ was what she’d needed from her father, and all she’d gotten was this lousy doll.

His words replayed in her mind, a litany of torment.

_If you don’t need it, you can throw it away. It is all the same in the end._

Annette wanted to rage and cry and blast something to pieces and repeat the process until this terrible weight left her chest. What kind of pathetic sop was she, because after everything her father had done, she couldn’t even bring herself to throw away the damn doll? The very idea of it felt like giving up, admitting that Gustave Dominic had succeeded in his selfish behavior and was beyond redemption.

As badly as he’d hurt her, she couldn’t give in and end the relationship, not like this.

Until she figured out what to do, Annette had to get as far away from the cathedral as possible. To keep running down the hallway past the Reception Hall, out into the weak winter sunlight near the classrooms. Her dorm room wasn’t that much farther, and most students were probably in their classrooms for the afternoon session. She could make it without anyone hailing her.

Blinking rapidly against the light hitting her full in the face, Annette collided with something hard and spun in an off-kilter twirl. Her doll and book bag went flying, and she sank to her knees on the icy flagstones, too stunned to react.

“Is this yours?”

Annette looked up through her tears into the expressionless face of Felix Fraldarius, and wondered if this day could get any worse. She held out a shaking hand to collect her possessions, and gingerly got to her feet.

“Oh, Felix. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to crash into you,” she mumbled, her eyes downcast. “Thanks for your help.”

She made a quick bow of acknowledgment, slung her book bag over her shoulder, and walked around him like he wasn’t there. What could be more embarrassing, plowing into him like he’d turned into a human barrel (those evil things only existed to mock her), or watching the inevitable scorn settle across his face from her carelessness? She wouldn't stay to find out.

“Annette.”

Felix grabbed her shoulder, and she froze.

“What? Is this about missing afternoon class? I know it’s starting in ten minutes, but I don’t care, I’m not going, I can’t—”

Felix was suddenly at her side, his callused fingers encircling her wrist. He tugged gently, and her legs obeyed, even though her mind hadn’t quite caught up.

“Come on,” he said. “I was just in the training hall, and it's empty.”

Her higher functioning process kicked into gear. “But I don’t want to spar with you right now.”

He sent her a look that seemed inexplicably gentle after every stupid thing she’d said and done. “You’re not going to.”

She allowed him to lead her the rest of the way, her brain so overloaded that she felt numb. Felix opened the heavy wooden door with his free hand, and led her to the center of the room, like she was a scared filly walking into the dressage arena for the first time. He left her standing there and headed towards the storage area, where they kept all of the training supplies—weapons, spell-casting targets, and a collection of beat-up wooden pells for weapon training. Grabbing a pell, he carried it to the door and leaned it against the handles, barring entry to anyone on the outside. Annette stared at him in shock.

“Um… Felix?”

He turned and faced her, bobbing his head once. “There. Peace and quiet.”

Before she could formulate anything coherent, he returned to the storage area. Annette silently watched him pull out four sets of the spell-casting targets she usually practiced with, and positioned them across the room. Well, she had wanted to break something to pieces, but this wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. She blinked, and Felix was standing in front of her; she’d missed him crossing the room.

“When you’re ready, you can batter these to a pulp,” he said.

“Um…” she twisted her hands together, feeling the sharp edges of the doll’s face dig into her skin.

“You’ve been practicing Sagittae, right?”

It was sweet of Felix to offer her the same outlet he used for himself. But she wasn’t in any kind of reliable condition to be flinging magic around. If she hurt him with a stupid miscalculation, she’d never forgive herself.

“Yeah. But it’s gotten pretty automatic,” was all she allowed herself to say. The rest felt too weak, too vulnerable to admit. He hadn’t scoffed at her yet, but even the idea of it felt devastating.

“Hmm,” Felix cupped his chin, thinking. The silence shivered and stretched, and Annette made herself break it.

“Um… we really should be in class right now. Or at least _you_ should be. I don’t want to get you in trouble with the Professor.”

If it weren’t for the stupid doll imprinting its crudely carved face into her palm, she would have thought this was some bizarre dream, like she sometimes got after eating herself sick with sweets. Felix wasn’t the guy who went out of his way to be considerate—that was usually Ashe’s role—and once she broke out of her emotional stupor, she’d probably dissect every single thing he’d said and done a hundred times.

Worse, she was starting to like him—just as a friend, of course, because anything more was laughable; he was a Duke’s son, for goddess’s sake. Nope, Felix was no more than a gruffly handsome friend, who was usually predictable in his antisocial behavior. But with his sudden display of kindness, she had no calculations at hand with which to navigate the waters, and felt hopelessly adrift.

While she agonized, Felix walked away, positioning himself at the correct distance Annette took when casting against the targets. He formed the glyph for Thoron and blasted through one of the targets. When the smoke cleared, half of the target remained; the spell had hit it off-center.

“Damn it,” Felix muttered. “Aim is still wrong.”

His words broke Annette out of her mental paralysis.

“Wait, when did you advance to Thoron?” she asked, shoving the doll into her bag and advancing to his side. “I thought the Professor only recently changed one of your skill focuses to Reason.”

“I added spell practice to my regular training routine. Thunder got easy enough I decided to jump ahead.” Felix looked down at her with one of his rare half smiles, the slightly lopsided upturn of lips he’d flashed at her when he’d said that her song lyrics were forever embedded in his memory.

This time, it had the opposite effect.

Annette gazed at his high cheekbones, the clear porcelain tone of his skin juxtaposed with his inky black hair, and felt like she had become that partially destroyed target. If the facsimile of a smile turned her insides to jelly, would she evaporate from a real one? Her mouth opened and her tendency to ramble took over, thankfully focused on spellwork.

“Thoron is a big jump to make on your own. But that looked pretty good in spread and mass. If you’re regularly missing the target, you must have one of the factors off in the equation. Let me see your glyph again.”

Felix humored her, and recreated the glyph. She walked him through several progressions, and quickly pinpointed the source of his error. He listened attentively when she explained how to correct it, and before she knew it, he had cast a series of perfect Thorons, eviscerating each target completely. She clapped her hands with glee.

“That’s great! It’s perfect now. You really have picked it up fast,” she said, grinning stupidly at him. She wondered if the Professor felt the same way whenever one of them learned a new concept; it was a heady feeling.

Felix regarded her intently, his face creased into that same indecipherable almost-smile. His scrutiny brought a rush of warmth over Annette’s cheeks and ears.

“Good, you’re back,” he said.

“What?” she sputtered. “I’m right here!”

“I meant here,” he lightly tapped her forehead, and she felt her blush deepen. “From the look on your face in the beginning, I’m assuming your father did his normal impression of a spooked horse?”

Annette’s mouth worked.

“How did you—”

“Have you met _my_ father?” Felix gave her a pointed look. “He’s equally obsessed with Dead King Lambert. Only I’m still necessary to his empire building, so I get enough of his attention to make sure I’m living up to the Fraldarius name.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Annette swallowed, and forced herself to meet his gaze.

He’d picked up so much more than she’d fathomed, and it felt… nice. Reassuring.

“I mean… thank you for understanding how it is,” she continued. “But no, this time my father decided to pretend I was eight years old, when he was still the center of my world.”

She sighed, and removed the doll from her bag. “He made this and gave it to me. And then just expected me to be happy he’d made it. Like the last four years didn’t matter at all.”

“Hmph.” Felix’s lip curled in disdain. “Do you want me to set that up on the target for you?”

For a long second, Annette stared at his outstretched hand, and the doll she still held in her own. She slowly shook her head.

“That’s the worst part… when he told me to just throw it away, instead of explaining himself... I still wanted to keep it. Why am I so pathetic?”

“You’re not, he is,” Felix said, surprising her with his vehemence. “He’s the coward who walked away from his life and never looked back. He’s lucky I’m not his kid, because you’re at least willing to forgive him. I wouldn’t.”

“Wow, um, thanks,” Annette felt warm again, but didn’t mind it so much this time. She’d never known Felix to be so forthcoming about himself, and she wanted to know more. “What did your father do...? Unless you’d rather not say.”

Felix turned away and cast another perfect Thoron; they watched the target disintegrate before he spoke.

“It started with what he said after Glenn fell at Duscur. ‘He died like a true knight.’ Like that just made it all fine.”

“Your brother?” Annette had heard pieces of the story from Ingrid and Sylvain one night, after Felix had been especially vicious to Dimitri and she’d asked them why. “Oh my goddess… that’s just…”

Felix crossed his arms and regarded her steadily. The depth of emotion in his whiskey-colored eyes made her own hurt seem manageable. She had to stop herself from reaching out to offer some kind of meager comfort.

“Glenn died because he ran into an enemy he wasn’t prepared for, and he wasn’t strong enough to win. Simple math,” he said, his voice expressionless. “I won’t let it happen to me, and I sure as hell won’t pretend it’s in the name of grand and glorious knighthood. In the end, it’s just me and an opponent on the battlefield, and the strongest survives. There’s no glory, no honor, just life or death.”

_That’s why he trains so hard all the time._

Annette felt the shock of recognition, a sizzling awareness of discovering another kindred soul. She hadn’t felt this way since meeting Mercedes at the School of Sorcery. As impossible as it sounded, Annette Fantine Dominic, estranged daughter of self-exiled Gustave Dominic, had a surprising amount in common with Felix Hugo Fraldarius, son of Duke Rodrigue, the Shield of Faerghus. It went beyond a shared frustration and grief over the respective trauma of their early teens, or even a shared work ethic.

In that moment, Annette saw in Felix the same driving need to prove to the world that they weren’t defined by their fathers’ choices.

She didn’t know how he had spotted that truth in her, when everyone else saw cheerful, clumsy, hardworking Annette, but she was beyond grateful for his perspicacity. She even knew a way to thank him.

“You know, if you want to practice dodging spells, I’d be happy to join you every week.”

Without answering, Felix turned and jogged to the storage section, making Annette fear she’d said the wrong thing again. A minute later, he returned with a training sword in hand, and moved into his preferred opening stance five feet away from her. The half smile was back, and she returned it, feeling her own posture relax.

“As it happens, I’ve got the afternoon free,” he said. “Are you ready?”

Annette took off her book bag and stowed it safely out of the way, marveling that this day had turned itself around into a memory that she’d treasure. She faced off against him, arms raised in preparation for her first spell.

“Here goes!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix really dislikes Gilbert—but Gilbert’s got game. Sylvain has a crazy afternoon, and a cunning plan. Annette takes a stand, plus an exploration into why her mother still loves her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention there are family drama triggers in this chapter, mainly abandonment. I’m exploring the aftermath of Gilbert’s decision to leave his family in some depth, notably the impact it had on his wife (because how often do we see Annette’s mom? I wanted her to have a real voice.). I sat through enough hours of family therapy as a teen to have come out of it with some interesting perspectives on why good people can make bad decisions and not fully understand the impacts on those closest to them. I honestly don’t believe Gilbert is an intentional villain, more like a stubborn, misguided man with too big of a hero complex and crippling perfectionism. Plus, it’s an era where duty and loyalty meant everything, and Gilbert would feel untethered without them. (Man, it’s hard to take off my historian hat, even in fanfiction.) I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments, if you have any!
> 
> Special thanks to [roxyryoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyryoko/pseuds/roxyryoko) for the beta help on the last scene! Your feedback was so helpful!

25 Wyvern Moon, 1185

Castle Fraldarius

If Felix had the power to turn his anxiety into a form he could physically battle, he would cast the spell in a heartbeat. The worst kind of enemy was unseen, the Puppet Master pulling the strings of hundreds of minions to protect his or her own position in the shadows. But self doubt, anxiety, fear—those emotions intimidated Felix more than facing his own death in an enemy’s eyes. It was one thing to fall to a stronger opponent, but to be be felled by your own failings… he couldn’t abide the thought.

So he did what he always did—trained harder. Got stronger, moved faster, again and again, even though some detached philosophical part of him knew there was a limit to how far he could go. Until he reached it, he would push until he rammed into that unyielding wall and didn’t get back up.

Ever since he’d returned to Castle Fraldarius, his impatience to be out there, doing _something,_ was so overpowering he practically lived in the training hall. With the old man overseeing the troops, Felix ran the estate in his stead, in its current simplified form with most resources going towards the war effort. Aside from overseeing the steward’s work in caring for the land’s tenants, his every waking moment was spent poring over maps and intelligence reports, training in the large and well appointed Fraldarius Knights’ Hall, and waiting for Gilbert Pronislav to appear.

Today was two months to the day to the Blue Lions reunion at Garreg Mach. So much time for things to go wrong: the boar could pick the wrong Imperial force to attack; Felix, Ingrid, or Sylvain could perish in battle with their respective territory’s armies; Ashe or Mercedes could be killed by bandits; or Annette’s wretch of an uncle could lock her up in a tower and refuse to let her leave. (At least that would give Felix an excuse for storming Dominic Manor. Not that he had the first idea what he’d actually _do_ with Annette afterwards, but at least she’d be safe.)

Felix growled, and repositioned his feet to the opening stance of his next form, sword arm aloft, with the blunted blade pointing straight. He visualized the wooden head of the pell in front of him with Lord Dominic’s face, and charged, feinting and slashing. Back out again, this time it was Cornelia’s visage he saw in his mind’s eye. He struck the pell so hard, he’d have to check the training sword for damage. And probably get another pell.

“Your opponent is dead ten times over, my lord.”

Felix whirled, and grunted in acknowledgment when he saw Gilbert Pronislav—a.k.a. Gustave Dominic—standing a few feet away, arms hanging respectfully at his sides. Gilbert looked haggard, as though he’d not gotten more than a few hours of sleep for several days (which he probably hadn’t), but even still, his resemblance to his daughter was strong. Annette hadn’t inherited her father’s height, but their hair blazed the same carrot orange, although Gilbert’s was shot with gray. The expression he wore now reminded Felix of one of Annette’s, a look of contemplation he’d seen many times when she was studying across the table from him in the library at Garreg Mach.

Felix scowled, annoyed that the Dominic he really wanted to see wasn’t standing before him. Best to get this interview over with as quickly as possible, before he said something unforgivable.

“You have a new task,” he said, lowering the sword so it rested tip-down on the ground. “The boar is alive, and Cornelia is trying to kill him. Find him before she does.”

Gilbert’s face glowed like the goddess herself had appeared in the room.

“It’s really true? His Highness lives.”

So much adoration for a vile beast, it turned Felix’s stomach. If Annette had been in line for the throne instead, would her father finally look at her with love and adoration? He decided to sink the proverbial knife and twist.

“You can thank Annette for getting us confirmation.”

“Annette?” Gilbert flinched like he’d been struck.

“That’s right, Gustave. Your daughter, who has more courage than you and my old man put together,” Felix said, venom dripping from each word. “She listened in on a meeting your brother had with Cornelia’s spy and contacted us with the details.”

Gilbert sighed and shook his head. “That sounds like Annette. Rushing in before she’s considered the consequences.”

“Save your criticism for yourself,” Felix said. Gilbert’s head snapped up and his nostrils flared. Finally, Felix had goaded a reaction.

“I didn’t realize you knew my daughter so well that you’d defend her actions, especially when they put her in peril.”

Felix snorted, and tossed his head in a dismissive manner. “Annette does whatever she thinks is right, and no one will convince her otherwise till she falls flat on her face at least once. While your brother hides behind Cornelia’s skirts, _she_ fights for the Kingdom. Cowardice must skip a generation in House Dominic.”

This time, his taunt backfired. Gilbert crossed his arms and stared at Felix, using the uncomfortable silence to take his measure. It was time for a tactical retreat.

“But this is all irrelevant to the matter at hand,” Felix said. “Our forces can’t be spared in large quantity to search out His Beastliness. We can give you a battalion, but not much more.”

Gilbert bowed. “I welcome any assistance you can offer. This news has brought me new vigor, and I will do everything in my power to find his Highness and bring him home.”

“Annette believes he might show up at Garreg Mach in Ethereal Moon.”

“Garreg Mach is a ruin, but it’s a strategic position,” Gilbert said, brows sinking in thought. “Do you think he’s based out of there?”

“Unlikely,” Felix shook his head. “But Annette remembered that the boar had us all promise to attend a reunion for the Millennium Festival. I don’t harbor any illusions that he’ll show, but she’s asked all of us to meet there, and we will. If you can’t locate the boar before then, come to Garreg Mach on the 25th of Ethereal Moon.”

“Very well,” Gilbert straightened and gave him a nod that almost looked regal; his upbringing as the former Baron Dominic slipped out at odd moments. “I will stay in the background unless His Highness appears. You needn’t fear I’ll impose upon your reunion.”

Felix couldn’t let that one slide.

“You mean to say that you’ll keep running from your old life?”

Gilbert’s gaze was steady. “If I didn’t know any better, my lord, I would ask after the source of your displeasure and apologize. But I recognize there’s no point.”

Felix was taken aback, and tried to cover his surprise. It wasn’t like the man to be direct. “Is that so?”

“It’s patently obvious that you’ve appointed yourself Annette’s champion,” he replied. “You needn’t waste your breath insulting me on her behalf. There is nothing you can say that I have not already condemned myself with, a thousand times over. That isn’t where your energy ought to go.”

“Hmph,” was all Felix could muster. Now he knew from where Annette got that skill of using the truth like a weapon. It was equally unpleasant coming from her old man.

“If Annette sees you in the same way, may the goddess have mercy on the souls of anyone who tries to harm you,” Gilbert continued. “Before my disgrace, I taught that girl to stand up for her beliefs and to never doubt her own value. She’ll tear anyone villainous to pieces… and do it with a smile. Take care you don’t take advantage of that, my lord. Despite my sins, I do love my daughter, and I would see her happy—and alive.”

He bowed and walked away, leaving Felix standing there, mouth agape.

* * *

30 Wyvern Moon, 1185

Father, I’m leaving the castle and headed your way. I hope you’ve got some worthy opponents for me to cross blades with. Uncle Gaston is here in my stead.

—F

* * *

4 Red Wolf Moon, 1185

Castle Gautier

Sylvain Gautier needed just two things: to get the hell away from his father, and a distraction, ideally in the form of dancing eyes and an inviting smile from a willing girl. He was not going to get either one.

“I’m going to defy him this time, Sylvain. I mean it.”

Margrave Gautier, damn him, had retreated to his study immediately after welcoming their surprise visitor, a calculating look in his eyes that Sylvain never wanted to see again. And instead of a willing girl, he had Ingrid Galatea in high dudgeon, ranting about the battle she’d just had with her own father to _go_ to battle alongside the Fraldarius Army at the front lines. (Daddy Galatea had said no. Ingrid’s continuing defiance of that decision was something new.)

Sylvain knew all about Ingrid’s tendency to adhere so strongly to decorum that she lectured anyone who failed her standards; she’d done it since toddlerhood. Ordinarily, Ingrid’s Rules Pertaining to Filial Duty fell into the same category as Ingrid’s Rules of Proper Knighthood—she was a good little soldier who (usually) did what she was told. This disagreement with her father had really gotten to her. She’d walked out of Galatea Manor, mounted her pegasus, and flown straight to Castle Gautier, just in time to disrupt Sylvain’s afternoon tea.

What he was supposed to _do_ to fix this sudden onslaught of chaos was another matter.

“Are you even listening to me?” Ingrid demanded.

Sylvain looked down into her flashing green eyes and got distracted by the golden flecks that appeared whenever she was enraged or joyously happy. He blinked, realizing he was gaping at her like a hormonal teenage boy. Ingrid. This is Ingrid, not a throwaway fling. Pay attention, brain.

“Do I have something on my face?” she asked suddenly, swiping at her cheeks.

That she had noticed his absorption was a clear sign that Sylvain needed a change of scenery; he was completely off his game. Preferably a locale abundant with girls he didn’t care for and who didn’t care for him—just a fun time. Until that happened, he needed to fix his boorish behavior with one of his oldest friends. His longstanding strategy was distraction, and he had the perfect one at hand.

“You look like a woman in need of some food,” he said. “Let’s go have tea, then you can yell all you want. Or eat us out of house and home, I’m not particular.”

“I’m not yelling at _you_ ,” she muttered, and fell into step behind him.

“Not yet,” he joked, dodging the half-hearted punch she threw at his shoulder. At least she was smiling faintly. Potential crisis averted.

Food was the only effective way of sidestepping an altercation Ingrid wanted to have, which Sylvain had learned after many mistaken attempts to change the subject or provoke her further. In that respect, Ingrid was as bad—and predictable—as Felix, only she battled with her tongue instead of a sword.

 _Tongue…_ His ridiculous, female-deprived mind instantly went into the gutter. _Goddess take it,_ _man,_ _you clearly need help._

This day was going to be an exercise in patience—more than he probably had. Somewhere he had to dig up the reserves to tackle his dysfunctional hormones, a grumpy (female) friend, and his father smirking at them like there was a _reason_ that Ingrid was here other than to vent her spleen. His father could look elsewhere—years ahead—before Sylvain would even discuss finding a wife to bear his crest babies. If the Margrave looked speculatively at Ingrid again, Sylvain would probably deck him.

Forcing a pleasant smile on his face, he led Ingrid to the breakfast room, which was one of his favorite rooms in the place, largely because his father avoided it. It had the warm, homey feeling of Sylvain’s mother, a kind but distracted woman who put up with her husband’s arrogant fixation on his own importance. She occupied herself by writing poetry and decorating every room the Margrave let her get her hands on, which was most of the castle. Since the war began, she’d been sulking more often than not; her favorite milliners and fabric suppliers were in Fhirdiad, under Cornelia’s control, which meant an end to shipments.

The round table with its colorfully embroidered tablecloth was already laid out, with a pot of Bergamot tea and a two-tiered silver platter featuring a host of dainty sized sandwiches, pastries, and desserts. Sylvain winked at the blushing maid waiting to pour and requested a second plate for his guest, along with a pot of chamomile tea for her.

Ingrid collected about half of the food for her own plate and dug in while Sylvain took his time pouring his tea. Between bites, she explained why she was going to defy her father for the first time.

“This is the fate of the Kingdom we’re talking about!” she gestured angrily with an eclair, brandishing it like a weapon. “My brothers were allowed to fight at the front from the beginning, and even one of my sisters is a healer with the Galatea forces. But no, my crest is so important, I get to sit in the reserves, and see little action. He’s coddling me like a baby.”

 _More like he wanted to protect_ _House Galatea’s solvency_ _through her future crest babies_ , Sylvain thought, knowing that same motivation had also spurred on his parents. His mother claimed she needed his company, but he knew better. He was rotting here, mouldering away while others fought the battles he wanted to win. Maybe he should suggest to Ingrid that they take a quick trip to bother Felix soon, just for the novelty of getting outside of this suffocating castle. Annoying Felix ranked lower than flirting with beautiful women, but it was a more viable option.

A servant hovered at his elbow, clearing his throat. Ingrid took the opportunity to take a second helping while Sylvain accepted a rolled up piece of parchment that had clearly been sent by owl. Thanking the retainer, he decided to read it quickly, since Ingrid wasn’t likely to mind the lapse in manners while she stuffed her face.

30 Wyvern Moon

Annette wants us to go to the Blue Lions Reunion for the Millennium Festival. Tell Ingrid to come.

—Felix

PS. Don’t even think about going to the castle, I’m not at home, and I don’t have time for a big production about how we’re getting there.

Sylvain spat out his tea.

Felix had just jumped from an amusing diversion to an absolute priority. Sylvain reread the missive, and his eyes lingered on Annette’s name. How very interesting.

“Unless that note says that Cornelia dropped dead, there had better be a reason you nearly ruined a perfectly good plate of food with your bodily fluids,” Ingrid scoffed from across the table.

She blinked in shock when he wordlessly shoved the paper in her face. Refilling his tea, he watched her features go slack with shock while she read the contents. She laid it down on the table and blinked, once, twice.

“How many times have we tried to convince Felix to go to the reunion?” she asked.

“Twenty at least.”

“And all it took was one request from Annette?” she shook her head in disbelief. “And now he’s lecturing us like we’re the ones slacking?”

“That’s the Fraldarius way.”

Ingrid’s lips turned up in a smirk he hadn’t seen on her face in way too long.

“What do you say we give our good friend Felix a visit to discuss the arrangements he’s too busy for—at the front lines?”

Well, well. Sylvain rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Maybe this day wasn’t a total waste after all. Ingrid would get her wish to see the front, and he’d just gained a viable excuse to leave Castle Gautier.

“You mean get the dirt on how he managed to reconnect with Annette Dominic?” Sylvain replied.

“That and possibly more,” she said, grinning deviously in a way that made his heart stumble. When had Ingrid developed a mischievous side, and why hadn’t he seen it more often?

“When do we leave?” he asked, gripping the back of his neck so his elbows stood up straight in the air above his head; what he thought of as his Devil May Care posture.

“How about tomorrow?”

Sylvain felt his insides twist when Ingrid’s expression shifted to something caught between determined and glum. “I really _am_ going to defy my father.”

He reached across the table and took her hand in a mock handshake.

“Welcome to the club, my friend.”

Ingrid’s smile felt like sunshine breaking through on a cloudy day.

* * *

6 Red Wolf Moon, 1185

Dominic Manor

Annette was far from prescient in most of her life—she was prone to creating disasters rather than foreseeing them. But when her uncle called her into his study on a dreary afternoon, she knew that this conversation would set her life on a new course, likely not one of her choosing.

The key was not to panic—if she let her mouth run off like normal, she’d lose everything. She had to stay focused on the long term goal: her hopes of living the life _she_ wanted depended on attending the Blue Lions reunion. And that meant not alienating her uncle. Not yet.

“You wished to see me, Uncle Aethelbert?”

He turned around from where he’d been staring out the window, hands gripped behind his back in a posture that painfully reminded her of her father. Aethelbert didn’t closely resemble his older brother, but sometimes his expressions or turns of phrase were exactly like Gustave’s.

“I have several matters to discuss with you, Annette,” he said, his hazel eyes serious. “I am concerned that you have not been forthcoming with me.”

 _Oh goddess, he knows about Felix. Was he captured?_ _He can’t have been, he’s too clever for that, and I’d never—_ _Focus, Annette, play the fool._

“I beg your pardon, Uncle?” she asked, with her best innocent expression, perfected from years of raiding the kitchens after dinner and getting caught.

Baron Dominic looked as unconvinced now as he had in the past.

“There’s a report circulating that when you got separated from our entourage early in the ball, you were seen in conversation with a man dressed in black.”

Annette forced her face to stay neutral.

“Oh, you mean at the dessert table?” She made a show of thinking hard. “If I recall, the man was overwhelmed by the array of treats and asked me which I’d suggest he take back to his lady friend.”

“Is that all? My source thought she saw you walk off with him.”

And there was the dagger. They _had_ been seen.

“Only temporarily,” she said. “I thought I knew his lady friend from the Academy.”

“And whom was that?” the Baron crossed his arms, ironically reminding her of Felix.

“Someone from the Black Eagles. I was wrong, I’d gone to school with someone else from the same area, but they weren’t related. Anyway, I made my way to the balcony afterwards.” For once, Annette was relieved by her tendency to ramble, since it did a great job of muddying the waters. “Truly, Uncle, you have nothing to worry about. I’m safe and in one piece, aren’t I?”

“True enough,” he said, momentarily softening.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

“You must take more care with your behavior in public, my dear girl. Appearances mean everything now that you’re grown up, and noblewomen don’t walk off with men unknown to their families, even within the confines of the ballroom. The person who reported your conduct believed you were meeting a lover on the sly, which I’m reassured now isn’t the case.”

Annette’s blush was not feigned. Someone had actually thought that about _her_?

“A l- lover? Are you serious?!”

“ _I_ know that, but people like to believe the worst, and most won’t give you a fair hearing without prejudging your conduct,” her uncle said, not unreasonably. “Promise me you’ll be more guarded from now on—your reputation could be unfairly tarnished. This isn’t the Academy any more.”

“Understood,” Annette said, with an emphatic nod. “I’m so sorry for worrying you, Uncle, and I’ll never make a mistake like that again. It’s horrible to think people are watching us in hopes we’ll screw up.”

Inwardly, Annette was relieved her excuses were successful; she was a terrible liar. For once, her uncle mistook her guilty behavior and reddened cheeks as embarrassment from a social gaffe, not the truth that she was courting treason. Still, it was horrifying to hear how closely she was watched at the ball, despite all of her careful planning. Thank the goddess Felix got away so fast. Otherwise he’d be in Cornelia’s prison as a hostage, and she’d never forgive herself if he’d been harmed.

“There’s more,” Baron Dominic said, and Annette froze. “You might have an offer for courtship, my dear girl. The young man in question is still reviewing candidates.”

Her brain couldn’t handle the double whammy of almost having Felix outed, followed by discussion of a suitor who… wasn’t Felix.

“Reviewing _candidates_?! This is not a competition!” She clapped her hand over her mouth, but the damage was done, given her uncle’s frown.

“That is often how things are done. I thought you knew that by now. You bear a crest of Dominic, but it’s a minor crest, and our House is not as well connected as others in the Faerghus Dukedom, like Houses Kleiman or Rowe. If we are to survive in this new world, you must do your part.”

“But there’s a huge difference between doing my part and marrying a man who could never love me because I’m only property to him,” Annette protested, unable to restrain herself. Panic had taken over control of her mouth, and she couldn’t loose its hold. “I cannot marry anyone while the war is raging, not when we don’t know which side will win. Would you have me make an alliance today that turns out to be on the losing side in a year?”

Uncle Aethelbert started pacing, visibly agitated.

“I’m not forcing you to the altar with him, for goddess’s sake! But marrying for love is for storybooks, and you’d best put that requirement out of your mind. It doesn’t happen often,” he shook his head vehemently; an irony coming from a man who’d never married.

He halted behind his desk and met her gaze. “As for the war, it’s only a matter of time before Fraldarius falls, and Gautier and Galatea soon after. Lord Rodrigue isn’t invincible, despite his military genius. Like it or not, the Empire’s backing has given Cornelia the advantage.”

Annette was chilled by his words, and the way her uncle’s eyes bore into her made her wonder if he knew that Felix had been the man in black. Was the Baron protecting her in his own way by saying nothing, yet warning her that others were watching? Did his pointed reference to House Fraldarius mean he knew where her own allegiances trended—not just for the Kingdom?

She was saved from reply by a most unlikely source.

“Aethelbert, are you truly against Annette’s marrying for love?”

Amelie Dominic entered the room, and Annette had never been more pleased to see her. Her uncle had a kind spot for his sister-in-law that they were both grateful for, and he didn’t like to argue with her out of guilt from his brother’s behavior. It had reflected badly on more than Annette and her mother.

Her mother came to stand beside Annette, and squeezed her arm. “None of us would be having this conversation right now if I’d listened to my own father’s advice about marriage.”

“Really?” Annette heard herself ask. All of these years, and she’d never known this detail?

Her mother favored her a smile, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. They were about the same height, although Amelie’s coloring was lighter, fair-haired with milkmaid skin. Annette had inherited her build and her cheery disposition, but her appearance was otherwise solidly Dominic.

“My father wanted me to set my sights higher, but it was over for me when I met Gustave at a social gathering. I held firm, and he eventually relented. If I had listened to him, imagine where I’d be now.”

Uncle Aethelbert snorted, startling both women.

“With all due respect, Amelie, given what my brother has done to all of us in his disgraceful self-exile, I don’t understand how you can speak of _love_ ,” he spat out the word.

“We’ve had this conversation too many times, Aethelbert. What matters is how much we appreciate your giving us a home here, and taking over the title and responsibility of House Dominic.”

“Yes, I’ve done my duty, and I’m trying to do it now by Annette, only to be met with romantic claptrap—that you’re encouraging further. Would you condemn her to a life as wretched as yours has become if the man she loves fails her like Gustave did? I only wish to save Annette from that same pain.” His face red, he sat heavily in the tall-backed chair behind the desk. “If you ladies would excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Of course, Aethelbert,” Annette’s mother said pleasantly, and shepherded her daughter out of the room.

* * *

Annette trailed her mother to the drawing room, where Amelie’s basket of embroidery sat on the settee she’d clearly abandoned. Her mother resumed her seat on one end, and retrieved her interrupted project. Annette sat down on the other side of the basket, her mind whirling while she watched her mother’s needle methodically weaving, row by row. After the past nine years of yoyoing across the emotional spectrum in regards to her father, she couldn’t understand how her mother remained so steadfast in her devotion. Annette had never felt safe to ask, but her uncle’s interest in marrying her off finally loosened her restraint.

“Why do you still believe in love, Mama?”

Her mother’s needle paused mid-stitch, then resumed.

“Because it’s given me so much happiness, the last nine years of missing your father can’t undo it.”

“But he’s hurt us all so badly, especially you.”

“Not as badly as Gustave is hurting, I think. That knowledge has kept me going, waiting for him to sort himself out.”

“I don’t think I could do it,” Annette said, staring at her hands, which resembled her mother’s in appearance, but had none of their grace and dexterity of movement. “I mean, waiting for some man to figure out and face his demons… I want to matter more than that to someone.”

“It’s understandable to want that, Annie. But love isn’t something we can mold like clay. It’s equal parts acceptance, assertion, and compromise.”

She sighed, and set her embroidery on her lap.

“If I’m truly honest… I am probably a fool at heart. But I gave my love and that’s final for me, even if Gustave forever associates us with his disgrace.”

Both women fell silent, and Annette contemplated her mother’s words. How could it be worth risking love that could wound so badly? Knowing it could die on the battlefield or through mishandling made the idea seem more than foolhardy. But she couldn’t lie to herself and pretend it wasn’t what she sought on some level—knowing what it really felt like to have that soul deep connection with someone who returned it. Wasn’t that ultimately what most people wanted, to be seen in their entirety, and loved despite their shortcomings?

Annette felt the weight of her mother’s regard, and looked up to see an odd expression on her face.

“Annie… is there someone you’ve set your sights on? Is that why you were so flustered when your uncle raised the subject of marriage?”

The rush of blood to her cheeks probably matched the color of her uncle’s favorite scarlet cloak.

“Nothing like that!” she stammered. “I mean, courtship and marriage is so much bigger than any crush I’ve had.”

 _Although your current crush is of four years’ standing, without signs of going away_ , the rebellious voice in her head piped up. _You’ve only got five years to go._

Time to change the subject.

“I really just… want to go to the Blue Lions reunion next month. But I’m afraid that Uncle Aethelbert won’t let me go if this stupid nobleman doesn’t choose some other _candidate_.”

“What’s so important about the reunion?” her mother asked, her face kind.

“I really want to see my old friends from the Academy... but it’s more than that. I want to create a future I can stand to live in, and I can’t do it without them.”

Her mother reached over the embroidery basket and took Annette’s hand in her own.

“No matter how others judge my life, Gustave gave me the best gift in the world: you. Your determination to set the world’s wrongs to rights is so much like him at his best.”

Annette gripped her hand, stunned by the comparison. Her mouth opened and admitted something she’d held back from her mother for years.

“Maybe I am like Father in all of the bad ways, because I won’t give up when I should. I saw him many times at the Academy, and he always ran away from me, except once. That time he gave me a doll and expected me to just love it, like I was still the same adoring little girl from before. But not once did he gave me an explanation. I’m so sorry, Mama, I couldn’t say any of this before.”

Tears flooded her vision, and her mother’s arms encompassed her, strong and comforting. Relieved to finally have someone to share her pain with, Annette leaned into the embrace.

“Oh my dear, I’m sorry you’ve been carrying this hurt so long. That has always been Gustave’s way, to punish himself so harshly that he denies himself everything—failing to realize how that also harms those closest to him. I may love that man, but he’s certainly got his share of faults.”

Annette met her mother’s steady gaze, and realized with a shock how deeply her mother understood her father, even after everything he’d done. She wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive him yet, but she finally understood why her mother continued to love him and hope for his return.

“Go to your reunion, Annie. I’ll handle your uncle if it comes down to it.”

“Thank you, Mama!”

Annette clung to her mother’s arms, aware on a deep level that she might not return home if Dimitri showed up at Garreg Mach. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that her future actions might hurt her mother as much as Gustave had done; she would follow her king into battle if he lived. And she was willing to lose her life to save the Kingdom if it came down to it. In that way, she was more like her father than she’d ever realized.

Her mother pulled back, her face creased into a gentle frown. Her next words signaled she’d misread the source of Annette’s troubled thoughts, although they raised a whole new battalion of them.

“One day, my darling daughter, if there’s ever a man whose flaws don’t send you scurrying away because they enhance his goodness… that’s the time to consider marriage. There is pain in it, even in the best of them—but it’s worth it, because of everything else you share. Our partner should enhance who we are, and inspire us to become more.”

Annette swallowed. That niggling fear inside her stretched and awakened—that she had perhaps begun to see Felix in that way. What was she thinking, falling for a man with the emotional range of a threatened animal, and no interest in women romantically. (Except for that kiss. Which didn’t mean anything. Or did it?)

“And if we love someone who doesn’t return it or respect it?” she asked, unable to hide the anguish from plumbing the depths of her scariest emotions. “What then, Mama? Would you have me waiting nine years, too?”

Amelie sighed, and patted her cheek. “Any man who doesn’t appreciate the joy and dedication you bring to everything you attempt isn’t worthy of your love. You know that already. The one who is, and still pushes you away is afraid of something else. At that point, you have two choices: to let him sort that out in his own way—even if you must step aside and let him go; or to lead him to the right path, and walk it together.”

“That sounds miserable,” Annette mumbled. “Love stinks.”

Her mother chuckled, and affectionately tucked a strand of fiery orange hair behind Annette’s ear.

“Just remember this, my earnest girl: sometimes you have to stand still to get where you need to go. There are unseen paths we can miss in our haste.”

Annette looked at her, the fading sunlight illuminating her hair like a halo, and committed that moment to memory, to help carry her through whatever trials lay ahead.

“I love you so much, Mama.”

“And I you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain investigate the Blaiddyd side of the border and find something nefarious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update! I did a piece for Annette Week (Felannie with children), and that set me behind. Then I battled with the beginning of this chapter for another week and finally broke through with some help. It would not be here without support from the following amazing writers! Thank you so much for being such a helpful sounding board, Reem, or I’d probably still be stuck. Also thanks to roxyryoko and Safraninflare for listening to me ramble and being so supportive. Thanks to Strawberry_Requiem for naming Sylvain’s wyvern when I was paralyzed by too many options. And to Mike, because I couldn’t figure out how to end this mission, and my favorite scene in years wouldn’t exist without your help. 
> 
> Cornelia is evil, and evil people don’t care whom they harm to maintain their power. Minor trigger warning for crimes against humanity (nothing gratuitous).

5 Red Wolf Moon, 1185

Fort Gervais, Fraldarius territory

Felix walked into Fort Gervais on a cold, foggy morning and hoped the old man would be in a giving mood. After leaving Castle Fraldarius at the end of Wyvern Moon, Felix had been dispatched to Marais Garrison, farther down the shared border between Fraldarius and Blaiddyd lands. It was a mess, with a seriously depleted mage unit after they’d taken heavy losses in a skirmish with Cornelia’s forces the day after his arrival. He’d left only because he felt his personal intercession would entice Lord Rodrigue to give up some of his own mages, which he usually kept at his base of operations.

 _If Annette were here, she’d be worth a whole battalion on her own,_ the annoyingly obvious part of his mind informed him.

Like he didn’t already know that Annette made life better just by smiling. Whatever magic she employed there, however, only seemed to work on him, and that wasn’t the kind of magic he needed right now. There would be no Blue Lions reunion for him if he didn’t survive the next battle.

Felix found his father consulting with several officers atop the parapet walk, the pathway along the top of the defensive wall of the fortress. They could see well into Blaiddyd territory from up here on a clear day, but today the visibility was restricted to the tall pines a few hundred feet in the distance.

The officers bowed in formal greeting when he entered their line of vision, and Duke Rodrigue acknowledged him with raised eyebrows.

“Ah, Felix, we were just speaking of sending for you. This is excellent.”

“For what?” Felix asked, his hackles raised. The old man didn’t waste time buttering him up unless he wanted something.

“Why don’t we talk a walk and I’ll explain,” his father gestured down the long expense of the parapet.

“Fine,” he muttered.

The officers took their leave, and Felix slouched to the old man’s side and followed the leisurely pace he set. The parapet walk was wide enough to hold three men side by side, and allowed them clear sightlines below without risking attack on their own position. Felix had always liked being up here, although this was as far off the ground as he wanted to venture.

“I _am_ here for a reason,” Felix said before Lord Rodrigue could speak. “Our mage unit took some heavy losses in the last skirmish, and we need reinforcements.”

“Galatea sent a few units over, I can reassign one to Marais Garrison,” Lord Rodrigue said. “But I have something you need to do before you return.”

Felix sighed, and nodded for his father to proceed. He’d suspected that there would be strings attached.

“Our intelligence has picked up rumblings of strange activity over the Blaiddyd border, by the old watchtower near the ancient Arfederydd battlefield. There are reports of odd sounds in the forest at night. Probably bandits, but it’s worth checking out all the same.”

Felix bit his lip and pulled up a mental map of the border. The Arfederydd battlefield was remote, up in the northeastern wilds of Blaiddyd, and not near any part of Fraldarius that would be easy to invade from. Thick pine forest made up most of the borderlands there, and the land on the Fraldarius side quickly turned to steep rocky hills, lined with soft shale. It wasn’t the ideal place for Cornelia to send in an army; nothing beyond wyvern or pegasus scouting groups would be of use with that challenging terrain.

“Don’t you have underlings capable of crushing some bandits?” he asked. “Why send me?”

The Duke turned and looked directly at him, with eyes the same color as Glenn’s.

“Because I’m not convinced they’re just bandits,” he said. “The location is too remote for any thieves to find much to pilfer. Mostly tiny farmsteads not wealthy enough to raid and sustain a whole gang.”

“So this is a scouting mission?”

“Primarily, yes,” Lord Rodrigue said, an odd note in his voice Felix couldn’t decipher. “I can only spare a few flying battalions to accompany you.”

“I don’t do flying, old man. You know that.”

“There isn’t time for this debate, son. We step up in wartime.”

Felix crossed his arms and turned to stare down his father.

“Oh, is this a war?” he deadpanned. “I thought my mages just got themselves killed for sport, my mistake. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”

Their standoff was interrupted by raised voices behind them.

“I’m sorry but Lord Fraldarius is with the Duke, you’ll have to wait.”

Both men turned reflexively, and Felix gaped at the sight of the tall red-haired man striding confidently down the parapet like he owned the place. _Oh no._ He could practically feel the old man’s glee emanating off his body.

“We’re old friends of Felix’s, we’re always welcome,” Sylvain said in the voice he always used to pick up women. Felix doubted it would work any better on his father’s soldiers.

Sylvain blanched when he met Lord Rodrigue’s gaze. “Oh, they weren’t lying, you’re actually—”

Ingrid stepped around from Sylvain and made an apologetic bow, her long braided hair half sliding over one shoulder. “Lord Rodrigue, please forgive our intrusion, we can go wait inside.”

“No, no, I’m happy to see you both,” Rodrigue said with a wide smile. Felix knew the boom was about to fall. “Are you available to help Felix on a mission, by chance?”

“Absolutely!” Ingrid and Sylvain chorused.

“Excellent!”

Rodrigue actually rubbed his hands together, like a villain from one of those stupid knight stories Ingrid and Ashe had been so obsessed with back at the Academy. Felix put his head in his hands, and resigned himself to a miserable mission in the skies.

* * *

When motivated, Lord Rodrigue could move mountains. Within a few hours, Felix found himself sitting behind Ingrid on her pegasus, Windmaiden, sharing command with Sylvain on his wyvern—ridiculously named Lady Priscilla II—over one hundred fliers. They’d been in the air nearly three hours, with the late afternoon sun hitting him in the face and blinding him at random intervals. It was cold and windy this high up, and, despite his additional wool layers, Felix felt half-frozen. Damn, he hated flying. It felt like certain doom was only one false movement away.

Sylvain steered Lady Priss closer to Windmaiden’s right side, near enough to be heard over the wind.

“So, about the reunion…”

“Oh, right!” Ingrid said brightly, craning her head to the right so Felix could hear her—not that he wanted to. “What did you call it the last time we brought it up, Felix? Something along the lines of a ‘pathetic promise the boar made us all agree to’ and you’d rather be dead than attend?”

“Hmph,” was all he could muster; he was too busy holding onto the pegasus’s saddle to cross his arms in his normal disdainful way.

“But one word from Annette, and it’s a go, huh?” Sylvain continued, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I wonder if she’d give out lessons on getting boulders to move.”

Interrogation by his friends hundreds of feet above the ground was officially Felix’s personal hell. Worse, they clearly enjoyed his discomfort and planned to milk it for what it was worth.

“Don’t tell me,” Ingrid continued loudly, “Annette was actually the ‘mission’ you were too busy to talk to us about last month?”

“Ah, young love,” Sylvain swooned, and faked wiping away a tear.

Ignoring them wasn’t working; they would feast on the topic trying to goad a reaction. Felix just had to be impervious, a shield deflecting each one of their jabs, until it was time to strike back.

“If you two would stop listening to yourselves talk, there’s an actual reason for going to the reunion now,” he said, hoping he sounded no more than nominally irritated. “And yes, Ingrid, it does have to do with my mission last month.”

That shut them up. Felix took advantage of his opening and pounced.

“Annette contacted my father’s spy network that she’d learned some important intelligence. I went to Fhirdiad to hear it.”

“You went to Fhirdiad alone?” Sylvain’s surprise was genuine.

“Of course!” Ingrid crowed, catching on. “You snuck in when Cornelia hosted that ridiculous costume ball and everyone was distracted.”

Sylvain grinned. “Right under her nose. That must have been satisfying.”

“The ball provided useful cover,” Felix said, unwilling to let them distract him. “Now if you’d finally let me talk, I’ll give you her intelligence, because it affects us all.”

This time, they listened attentively, and he explained what Annette had overheard outside her uncle’s study. Sylvain’s face went slack, and Ingrid’s posture was so stiff, she could have impersonated a statue.

“Dimitri is… alive?” she murmured. “Truly?”

“Goddess only knows what kind of beastly condition he’s been in all of this time,” Felix said, and shook his head. “My old man practically ordered a Hallelujah chorus.”

“And now Cornelia is looking for him,” Sylvain said, mirroring Felix’s dry tone.

“But this changes everything!” Ingrid insisted, the hope in her voice so obvious, it physically hurt Felix’s ears. “If he’s alive, that means—”

“Now you know why we’re going to the reunion,” he interjected before either of them could go into further raptures or worries about the boar.

“You think Dimitri will show up!” Sylvain pumped his fist. “And here we were giving Annette all the credit.”

Felix scowled. “It was her idea, but I agreed it’s the best shot we have at finding him.”

“We all need to go,” Ingrid said, as if she’d made the decision herself. “Everyone that transferred into the Blue Lions should be told. We need all the support we can get.”

“Good luck getting anyone under Edelgard’s thumb to show,” Felix said darkly.

“Dorothea would come,” Ingrid persisted. “And she’ll know how to get a hold of the others. She sent me a letter last month. I’ll write her as soon as we return.”

“Ah, the lovely Dorothea Arnault,” Sylvain said, his expression going dreamy. Felix rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming next.

“She’s not even here for you to leer at!” Ingrid scolded. “Give it a rest.”

Felix wished he could shove his childhood friends together on the damn pegasus and take Lady Priss for himself so he’d have the ability to fly away from them. His nerves were so on edge, he was amazed his hair wasn’t crackling from the pent up energy. Right now, he would pay for the ability to cut a swath through a line of bandits, hit a pell, anything but sitting here freezing his ass off, enduring his friends’ endless chatter.

But this was a scouting mission, which meant no direct engagement with the target unless they were attacked first.

“Approaching the watch tower!” one of the wyvern riders shouted, his voice carrying on the wind.

“Fly for the cover of the forest below!” Sylvain shouted back, and with a nod to his friends, he joined the other wyvern riders and canted to the right.

Ingrid issued the order to follow, and Felix gripped the saddle for dear life as Windmaiden shifted her wings and began a steady dive down. He prayed to the goddess and the four Saints he wouldn’t pass out or vomit before this hellish ride was over. If he didn’t get on the ground soon, heads would roll.

The pegasus riders grouped off to the left of the battalion of wyvern riders, and hovered above the treetops. Where the trees dropped off several hundred yards ahead marked the transition to the scrub and grass-covered open fields that made up the old Arfederydd battleground. It wasn’t difficult to see the stone watchtower in the distance, positioned at nine ‘o clock on the aerial map Felix had studied before they’d left.

The ancient battlefield had been transformed over the centuries into farmland, stretching out to the north of the old tower. Hundreds of yards to the right of the watchtower, an old quarry had been dug into the hillside that ran perpendicular to the thick forest they hovered above. A settlement had formed and been abandoned about fifty years ago, but the map had shown evidence of an old well and the foundations of several stone buildings near the edge of the forest. The three landmarks had formed a neat triangle on the map, with the battlefield in between them.

All of the animals spooked when a blast of light shot up in the air, near the direction of the quarry. Magic. But it wasn’t a spell Felix recognized.

“What the hell was that?” Sylvain spoke for them all.

Ingrid pulled up alongside him, and the three of them conferred, deciding that only five flying units would scout the field where the light had emanated, to minimize their risk of detection. Three pegasi and two wyverns took off, and those who remained waited in anxious silence.

Fifteen minutes later, one pegasi returned, its rider visibly shaken.

“My Lords and Lady, I—” she shook her head. “You need to see this.”

“Attack situation?” Felix demanded.

She shook her head. “Our numbers are too small to handle it. Come see for yourselves.”

They took off, following her lead in a wide circle away from the watchtower and towards the quarry, staying over the trees as long as possible. They pulled up with the other four hovering riders, and gaped. In the fields below, inside the abandoned quarry, was… Felix hardly knew what. He’d heard rumors that Cornelia had gotten technology from the Empire, but this was beyond anything he imagined Edelgard could have developed on her own.

A giant machine that looked like an armored knight carrying a blade moved loudly in the quarry, emanating loud sounds whenever it moved its mechanical limbs. Felix couldn’t determine what was powering it out here in the middle of nowhere, but he could make out some dark mages standing in a row in front of the monstrosity.

Their scouting group circled north of the quarry, going behind it, and came out around the other side, so the machine’s back faced them. And that’s when Felix’s blood ran cold.

Another row of dark mages stood beside a fenced enclosure, chanting in unison in some kind of strange collective spell. Within the enclosure were people huddled on benches, sitting deathly still in the near freezing temperatures.

“What the hell?” Sylvain spoke for them all.

They hovered and watched, and the purpose of the people—the prisoners, for what else could they be?—became sickeningly clear. The mages in front of the machine were testing magic on it, casting spells again and again, then running forward and checking it for damage. Afterwards, one would confer with the mages in charge of the prisoners. Every time those mages adjusted their spell, the prisoners would contort, their moans carrying on the wind, and the giant machine responded, taking less damage from the spells.

“Goddess protect us,” Ingrid breathed. “They’re using those people as—”

“Fuel,” Sylvain spat out the word. “For that thing. To increase its magical resistance.”

“We have to get them out,” Felix said, so enraged he felt numb.

“I’m as livid as you are, but we’re only a hundred fliers,” Ingrid said. “We need at least two mage battalions to defeat that machine, and someone like Annette to lead them.”

For once, Felix was grateful Annette was all the way across Faerghus in Dominic territory, safe. The idea of her offered as a sacrifice to that thing made him want to destroy everything in sight.

“Without or without magic, we have to act,” he insisted, unable to shake that image of Annette suffering. Those people below were someone’s family, and he could not in all conscience turn his back on them.

“I agree. Cornelia is using them like they’re trash,” Sylvain said, disgust and anger competing for supremacy. “If we do nothing, that thing will be at our front lines in a matter of weeks. Taking away its power source is a lot easier than battling it and a pile of dark mages without any magic users of our own.”

Ingrid was silent a moment, intently studying the scene below. “Before we act, we have to get closer. Figure out how many of those outbuildings by the forest are for prisoners.”

Felix followed the direction of her gaze, towards the old farmstead, which had undergone a transformation from the layout on the aerial map. It was also fenced, with woven branches that looked easy enough to break, with a single entrance they could see from here, manned by robed guards. More dark mages.

“That and identify where they keep their food storage,” Felix said, scanning the terrain in front of him for anything else, but seeing only the three locations in use—watchtower, quarry, and encampment. “Hit them on both fronts, and wreck the operation.”

“They’ll see us if we fly any closer,” Ingrid said.

“Then we wait for nightfall and go on the ground to get a total count,” Felix said. “The encampment is close to the forest our fliers are hiding in, it should be easy to scout from there. Even if we have to climb some trees to look in.”

“I’ll lead the scouting mission,” Sylvain said. “I’m a champion tree climber.”

“I’m in, too,” Felix said instantly.

Ingrid stiffened. “But—”

“It’s no different than all the times we snuck into the royal gardens after bedtime as kids,” Sylvain said, smiling reassuringly at her. “Let’s reassemble and come up with a battle plan.”

Felix and Ingrid nodded, and signaled to the other scouts to retreat back to the forest. All seven animals retraced their flight path, circling out of sight of the quarry by going northeast until they hit the treeline and turned south to their waiting battalions. As they neared their allies, Ingrid muttered something so low Felix almost missed the words. But he wholeheartedly agreed.

“If only the Professor was here.”

* * *

They descended into the forest to wait out nightfall, allowing the exhausted animals to rest and eat, and the cold, tired riders the ability to move around on solid ground for a few hours. They’d set up a facsimile of a camp about a mile north of the Arfederydd battlefield in order to light fires for warmth and partake of packed rations. A few scouts rotated in and out, reporting back on the long trek the dark mages put the prisoners through, out of the quarry and across the barren, icy fields to the fenced compound by the forest. They’d lost sight of the prisoners once they’d entered the compound, but were able to take a full head count—thirty-three in total.

Finally, when the crescent moon was rising in the sky, emitting faint light, Sylvain and Felix met each other’s eyes and nodded. It was time.

They got to their feet, and readied themselves for the scouting mission on foot, scaling back weapons to whatever they could carry on their backs. Felix was grateful he’d worn black and brought along a plethora of supplies, including an extra pair of thick leather gloves and the rope with grappling hook he’d used to escape from the royal palace after meeting Annette.

“Is everyone clear on what to do?” Ingrid raised her voice and looked at the assemblage.

Her listeners nodded. Ingrid joined Felix and Sylvain at the edge of the camp for a last minute conference. She looked more nervous that Felix was used to seeing, something that Sylvain clearly picked up as well, given his next words.

“We’ve got this. I’m trusting Lady Priss to your care.”

Ingrid looked back and forth between them, her eyes serious.

“If you’re not back in a few hours, we’re coming in. Stay hidden, no matter what you see in there.”

Sylvain reached out and squeezed her hand, and Ingrid gripped it. They exchanged a look fraught with intensity, and Felix wondered if they’d had an argument before their arrival at Fort Gervais this morning. The moment passed so quickly he must have imagined it. Ingrid grasped Felix’s arm next, and he tolerated the contact, even though he did little more than give her a decisive nod in exchange. Apparently, it was enough, for she turned without another word and headed to Windmaiden.

Felix and Sylvain turned and began their mile long trek through the forest, heading as close to the edge of it as they dared, steps away from where it disappeared into icy patches of dead grass. Most of the way, they walked in silence, picking a careful path through the undergrowth, getting covered in pine needles and sap and goddess knew what else.

Felix’s nostrils flared as a combination of rotting leaves and skunk scent wafted by, about one hundred yards away from the quarry.

“Ugh, that’s foul,” Sylvain muttered from his left.

They walked another few minutes, and the undergrowth began to thin, but the skunk stench lingered.

“This is the mission from hell,” Felix said. “Next time I’m telling the old man to sit on a tree and swivel.”

Sylvain huffed in amusement. “Imagine spending hours stuck next to a den of skunks. Be careful we don’t disturb them and make this worse, or we’ll fly home smelling like one.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

They passed the quarry, which was silent now, and slowed their pace, taking care not to make a sound. One broken twig echoing through the air could spell the difference between stealth and discovery. Finally, after what felt like forever, they came within sight of the woven wattle fence surrounding the old farmstead turned prison camp. Communicating solely by touch and gesture, Felix and Sylvain unloaded their climbing gear, slung their packs over their backs, and rappelled the ropes into tall, sturdy branches on opposite sides of the same tree.

If Felix smelled like forest fauna before, he probably would reek of pine for the next two days. Needles were stuck in his hair, sap clung to every part of his clothes and leather armor as he maneuvered his way up the large tree trunk, before swinging up onto a large branch overhead. It was one of the areas where Sylvain’s greater height and more heavily muscled strength was less of an advantage; it took him several minutes to catch up with Felix on a neighboring branch.

Once settled, they put their focus on the camp below, which was clearly visible, courtesy of four different campfires lit throughout. Felix counted a total of a well, one stone building with a functional roof, and three temporary-looking wooden shacks. The latter likely housed the prisoners, and the former hopefully held supplies they could destroy or steal.

Silently, he and Sylvain waited, watching for signs of life inside, but everyone was clearly inside the buildings. The only entrance of the encampment faced the open field, on the opposite side from their position. It was guarded by two dark mages and two sword masters, who stomped their feet and huddled over two metal fire pits positioned on either side of the gate.

Taking four guards wouldn’t be a problem for him and Sylvain, but Felix could see a lot of activity going on inside the watchtower, which was too close for them to avoid detection if they engaged in battle. It looked like it had been entirely remade for the dark mages’ work, and was equipped with impressive projectile weapons, some magical in nature. They couldn’t risk being seen; they had to get the prisoners out without the enemy knowing they were present. Lord Rodrigue would probably be furious enough over their actions as it was, but Felix was more than willing to face his sire’s displeasure—assuming he got back in one piece.

For the second time that night, Felix desperately wished The Professor was still alive, and in charge of the mission. He’d just have to think like her, and focus on creating some kind of diversion. Maybe his limited spell knowledge could be applied to good use? But how?

Sylvain touched his arm, and pointed down to the ground. Felix nodded, and they quietly worked their way out of the tree, sliding down the ropes and landing with a muffled thump on the ground. They collected their gear and silently headed north, towards the camp where their allies waited. When they got about halfway between the camp and the quarry—indicated by the return of the skunk stench—Felix risked speaking in a low whisper.

“We don’t have the numbers to take them on, their operation is too extensive. Did you see what they did to the watchtower?”

Sylvain nodded. “Whatever Cornelia is having them do, she wants it done quietly.”

“We need to create a diversion. Something to get them out of their posts long enough that we can go in and get the prisoners out on the ground.”

“I have an idea.” Sylvain’s face transformed into a huge smile, and it felt like they were eight and six years old again, about to get into a heap of trouble.

“Oh no,” Felix groaned.

* * *

Ingrid leaped to her feet when Felix and Sylvain trudged into the camp. She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it when Sylvain raised a hand.

“Okay, change of plan.”

“What did you see?” Ingrid asked.

“We’ve found the solution to distract the guards, but it’s going to require some creative herding,” Felix said.

Confusion radiated on the faces of their companions, but Ingrid spoke for them all.

“Herding?”

Sylvain gave his biggest shit-eating grin and pumped his fist. “Time to go skunk-hunting, everyone!”

A shocked silence descended, then everyone started speaking at once. Ingrid’s clear voice rose of the cacophony.

“Oh my goddess, no! That’s disgusting and... sheer utter genius,” she threw her head back and laughed.

“I knew you’d see things my way,” Sylvain said, and Felix rolled his eyes.

“Okay, everyone, this is what we’re going to do.”

* * *

Less than thirty minutes later, Felix learned that five very angry skunks dragged from their den were a force as formidable as a row of mages casting Meteor.

Once unleashed by the entrance of the prison camp, their battalion watched with muffled snickers as four guards ran from their posts, with the skunks in hot pursuit.

“Don't blast them with a spell, you fool, they'll stink worse! Run!” One of the sword masters sprinted in the direction of the watchtower.

“This way, lead them away from here!”

“Ugh, that smell. I think I'm going to throw up.”

“Not here, damn you!”

Although the air stank with a miasma worse than any battlefield Felix had been on, it took only fifteen minutes to enter the now unguarded camp and liberate thirty-three dazed prisoners. A quick check of the buildings yielded nothing they could use; supplies were likely stored in the tower. Felix eyed the old well, and peered down its long shaft to check it was in use.

He turned to one of the prisoners hovering at his elbow.

“Do you drink from this?”

“Yes, sir,” she bobbed her head.

“Good.” He smiled.

Turning to everyone remaining in the encampment, he said, “Throw in whatever you can find. Let’s leave them a mess to remember.”

The female prisoner Felix had rescued turned and ran back to the sleeping shack, grabbing a number of her fellows. They returned carrying chamber pots and flung the contents down the well.

“Oooh, that’s worse than skunks,” Sylvain applauded. “Wait, who has the bags we caught the skunks in? Let’s throw those down there, too!”

Felix watched all manner of detritus disappear down the well, and crossed his arms in satisfaction.

“Excellent.”

* * *

The moon was high in the sky when their newly encumbered battalion departed, with the additional load of the foul-smelling prisoners, for the three hour journey back to Fort Gervais. Felix and his friends happily took the lead of the pack, where at least they were upwind of the worst of the stench—not that they smelled all that golden themselves.

“That was sickening,” Ingrid said, breaking the silence. “And I don’t just mean the skunks.”

Felix was exhausted and not really in the mood to talk, but he understood that his friends were still processing everything that had happened. He probably was, as well, if he were capable of feeling much beyond the cold from the wind buffeting them.

“The Empire has some technological resources, but I’ve never heard of anything like what we saw,” he said.

“Cornelia was using innocent people,” Sylvain ground out. “That’s unforgivable. I thought the crest system was exploitative, but this...” he shook his head.

“I know,” Ingrid said, her voice gentle. “But we helped them.”

“This time,” Sylvain said. “But what’s to stop them from getting more in the future?”

They descended into uneasy silence once more. Perhaps it was the frigid air, but Felix suddenly saw the entire situation with clarity—they were losing the war.

“We need the boar,” he heard himself say.

The sensation of realizing he’d actually spoken those thoughts aloud unsettled him, but the conviction of their truth remained. If he were a betting man, he’d wager all his winnings that tonight’s realization was exactly what his father had in mind by sending them up here.

“Yes,” Ingrid agreed, without the enthusiasm of the afternoon. “Without Dimitri, we have no heart to rally around. No leverage against other nobles.”

“We need more mages to withstand what that machine can unleash,” Felix continued. “And hopefully to destroy it. We saw enough of their tests to have an idea of its weaknesses.”

“How many more of the goddamn things do you think Cornelia has?” Sylvain asked. “And where is she getting them from?”

Felix shrugged, the gesture sullen rather than uncertain. “We’ll have to report to my father and see how much he really knows.”

“You think he knew this was here?” Ingrid asked, turning to touch his arm. “And sent us anyway? Felix…”

He shook it off.

“I don’t know what the hell he’s thinking, but I’m going to find out.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid makes a decision. Felix confronts his father. Annette is blindsided by her mother. Annette and Mercie arrive at Garreg Mach and run into a battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the delayed posting of the previous chapter, this one came much faster—because I’d drafted three of these scenes while working on the previous chapter! And I couldn’t wait any longer for that darn reunion. Longer update than normal as a result, but I figured it would be worth it. My update schedule for this fic is currently between one and two weeks, but hopefully I’ll keep to the lower end of the estimate.

6 Red Wolf Moon, 1185

Fort Gervais, Fraldarius territory

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

From his berth against the crenelated wall of the parapet, Sylvain looked up from his contemplation of the distant pine trees, his mind whirring from being awake over twenty-four hours. They’d arrived at Fort Gervais with the former prisoners a few hours before dawn, leading to the general chaos of finding places to bathe and house everyone. He, Ingrid, and Felix had managed to find time to sneak in baths, being among the smellier cohort, but there hadn’t been time to sleep. Lord Rodrigue had risen with the sun and demanded an explanation from his heir, and they’d been closeted together for over an hour.

Forcing his focus on his visitor, Sylvain blinked at the sight of Ingrid holding a pair of shears. It was a larger pair, the kind they used for horses and pegasi.

“Sure, do you need help with that?” he asked. “Did Windmaiden get something tangled in her mane?”

His stomach twisted oddly when Ingrid’s face turned white, then flushed pink. She handed him the shears, and he silently took them, their gazes locked.

“Actually… I want you to cut my hair.”

“What?!”

Sylvain stared, unblinking. He’d have been less shocked if she’d informed him she was going to marry Felix and the wedding was next week. (Well, maybe that would have been a tie.)

Ingrid reached back and loosened her slightly damp hair from its normal braid, as though she’d taken his silence as consent. Then she turned around, her golden locks flowing freely down her back, ending just above her—no, he wasn’t looking.

“Cut it here.” She put her hands at horizontally at the base of her skull and held them there.

“But you have such...” it was on the tip of his tongue to say “beautiful hair” and the words dried up in his mouth. Somehow he knew that was the last thing she wanted to hear.

It was almost like she did, anyway. Heaving a sigh, Ingrid lowered her arms to her sides. Her shoulders sank in resignation, and Sylvain was stunned he hadn’t recognized the tension there before.

“I can’t be this person any more. Not after what we saw last night,” Ingrid said, still facing forward, as if that gave her the courage to air her feelings. “Knowing what evil exists out there, what people are willing to do to other people in order to hold on to power. There is no room for Ingrid Galatea, crest-bearing daughter, sitting around waiting to get betrothed. I must fight for what’s right, and I need to be completely unencumbered.”

Sylvain stepped closer at the end of her speech. He raised the shears in his right hand and gathered a section of her hair in his left, startled to find his fingers trembling. She shivered, and he wondered if was from the chill of the air hitting her neck or from the decision she’d made. He opened the shears and threaded the section of her hair in between the sharp blades.

“I’m on it. But this might take a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

The hank of her hair dropped into his hand with surprising weight when he closed the shears, severing it. Unable to stomach the idea of carelessly flinging her shed locks onto the stone floor, he slung it over his left shoulder, and attacked the next section, doing his best to make sure everything lined up evenly. When he was finished, the pile of hair draped over his shoulder felt oddly heavy, like it contained some kind of stagnant energy. Ingrid waited a moment before reaching back to touch her short bob. Her fingers moved slowly, wonderingly, and Sylvain found himself riveted by the sight.

“It’s so… light,” she said, and loosed a startled laugh. “I should have done this years ago.”

She whirled, her face aglow. “How does it look?”

He studied her, noting how her eyes seemed bigger in her face, her jawline more pronounced. She was the woman he’d known and cared for his whole life, and she had become someone he didn’t fully recognize—and wanted to know better.

“It suits you, Ingrid,” Sylvain said, his mouth forming a slow smile that spread wide. “I see the person who’s always put me in my place, but with the courage of her convictions.”

Ingrid blushed, and Sylvain felt his own cheeks warm, wondering what the hell had caused that reaction.

“I’m not one of your ladies you have to impress,” she scoffed, shaking her head. Her eyes went wide when the swish of her hair brushed against her cheeks. It was ridiculously charming.

“Here,” Sylvain handed her the pile of her hair and the shears. “I didn’t want to just drop it in case you need it for something.”

“Thanks,” she said, and grimaced when she felt the heft. “Damn, that weighs a ton.”

Sylvain’s laughter startled a pair of guards nearby, but Ingrid was too busy grinning to scold him.

* * *

Lord Rodrigue wasn’t pleased with his scion, which Felix welcomed. After being denied battle the previous day, he was more than happy to cross verbal swords with his father.

Following Lord Rodrigue into the windowless war room in the keep of Fort Gervais, Felix stood beside the round wooden table where his father spread out maps of the region, as well as intelligence reports. His father continued to the other side and paced a few times before voicing his displeasure.

“I thought I sent you on a reconnaissance mission, but I woke up to the news that you came back with thirty-three people. What the hell happened at Arfederydd?”

Felix crossed his arms, and gave a detailed report as if he was dictating it to a scribe. He kept his voice expressionless until he got to the part about the strange war machine Cornelia’s mages were testing, and how they were doing it. His father’s face blanched by the end of the description.

“Cornelia has a Titanus?!”

Felix’s gaze sharpened. “You know what it is?”

Lord Rodrigue resumed pacing. “It’s fabled technology, the stuff of history books. I’ve never heard of one being deployed in hundreds of years, but if the Adrestian Empire found a stash of them, we’re in more trouble than I realized.”

“The damn thing clearly needs some kind of power source, given how they were using those people we saved,” Felix said, not bothering to hide his scorn. “Did you expect me to just leave them there to die?”

“Of course not,” his father looked up mid-stride and met his gaze. “You executed the best possible strategy, seeing as we lost no troops. How did you manage that?”

Felix wrinkled his nose, recalling the stench all of them had marinated in for the three hour flight back.

“You can’t smell the evidence? I washed my hair three times, and I still reek of pine and skunk.”

Lord Rodrigue crossed the room towards him and sniffed the air. Felix’s irritation grew when he grinned. “Ah, that explains that odd scent.”

Felix scowled, and pulled his arms tighter against his chest. “It was disgusting, but it did the job. They never even saw us—too busy running from some very angry skunks. We freed every prisoner and destroyed the well on site. I only wish we could have done more.”

His father made to reach out to touch his arm, but pulled back his hand at Felix’s expression. “You did more than I expected. There is nothing worthy of recrimination in your conduct, son.”

“Hmph,” he looked down at the floor, unable to bear the weight of his old man’s approbation. Somehow, the rare praise hurt as much as his father’s disappointment, and he didn’t have the processing space available to unpack why. As usual, he locked that emotion away into his mental treasury.

Lord Rodrigue refocused his attention on the aerial map of Arfederydd battlefield on the table beside them, and Felix joined his father with relief. The Duke asked a number of questions that he answered, and discussion devolved into a dissection of Cornelia’s potential next moves, along with devising a list of questions to ask the freed prisoners. With all topics exhausted, Lord Rodrigue fell silent, stroking the whiskers of his short beard in frowning contemplation. Watching him, Felix felt last night’s conviction return—that they were losing the war against Cornelia. He couldn’t hide from it any longer.

“Tell me the truth: how long can we hold out?”

Contrary to his expectations, Lord Rodrigue seemed unsurprised by the question. His shoulders tensed and released in resignation. Not a good sign.

“If Cornelia has more technology like what you saw at her disposal… I don’t know. Months, maybe?” He shrugged.

“Did you know this when you sent us out on this mission?” Felix demanded.

Finally he provoked a reaction.

“I suspected Cornelia might be up to something in secret, but I had no idea it was anything of that nature. Do you think I’d have sent you without a mage battalion if I’d known?” Lord Rodrigue retorted, his eyes flashing in irritation. “Put you, Sylvain, and Ingrid at risk on a whim?”

Felix met his stare and returned it in force.

“But you did risk us, all the same.”

His father’s annoyance evaporated, replaced with something more pensive.

“...Yes, I suppose I did. The results speak for themselves, but perhaps… I should have thought differently.”

That was as close to an apology as a Fraldarius got, and Felix surprised himself by accepting it.

“I want to be furious about it, but I can’t be,” he said, his eyes tracing the lines of the map in front of him. “Not if we’re weeks away from being conquered.”

He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. It hung to his shoulders, still damp at the roots after the vigorous scrubbing he’d put himself through. Then he asked the question he dreaded the answer to more than anything.

“If we find the boar, do you think it will change things that significantly?”

“Yes.” his father’s certainty was absolute. “It’s one thing to bow to Cornelia without a living Blaiddyd heir. But going against Dimitri in battle might make some nobles think twice about their allegiances.”

Felix scowled at the table, angry that he couldn’t bring himself to look his father in the face for this part of the conversation; the subject was more raw than he liked to admit.

“If he’s as wrecked as I think he is, there could be trouble. Who would follow a raving beast?”

Lord Rodrigue stunned him by laying a hand on his shoulder. “If it’s a choice between that and the Adrestian Empire, what do you think most Faerghians would pick?”

Felix fell silent, sickeningly aware that the old man was right. Fodlan’s future lay with two horribly flawed options—his blood-thirsty former best friend, or a conquering force that had sided with the evil mages who destroyed Remire and used humans as a fuel source for horrifying technology. The boar, for all of his vileness, was nothing like the latter. There was no choice but to follow Dimitri and to lay his own life on the line to keep the head of the Kingdom alive.

The sympathy on his father’s face as he watched Felix come to these conclusions somehow made him feel sicker.

“I’m going back to Marais tomorrow,” Felix said tersely. “Keep the Galatea mage units, you’re going to need them. We’ll have to make do.”

Lord Rodrigue nodded his agreement.

“Pray to the goddess that we find Dimitri soon.”

Felix snorted, and his smile was bleak.

“More like pray that he hasn’t lost what little humanity he had left.”

* * *

15 Red Wolf Moon, 1185

Dominic Manor

“Annette, come to my room, I have need of you.”

Annette looked up from her book in the library, startled to see her mother downstairs at this hour of the evening. She usually retired two hours after dinner to read or embroider in the quiet of her private parlor. Even though Gustave was no longer the Baron Dominic, Uncle Aethelbert—still unmarried after all these years—hadn’t asked his sister-in-law to relinquish the Baroness’s suite.

“Of course, mother,” Annette said, replacing her book on the side table next to the oversized leather armchair she’d curled up in.

She followed her mother up two flights of stairs and down the long hallway that led to the west wing of the house. Amelie swiftly entered into the parlor, which was the first room of the suite of rooms, and dismissed her lady’s maid, Madeline. Both Annette and Madeline blinked in surprise at the deviation of routine. The latter respectfully bobbed her head and hurried out of the room.

Amelie motioned Annette to join her in the inner sanctum of her bedroom, a signal that whatever she wanted to say required the utmost privacy. Annette’s heart started pounding in her chest, thumping loudly enough she wondered if her mother could hear it in the silence of the space.

Amelie halted in front of the canopied bed, decorated in silvery blue shades, and turned to face Annette, her expression sober.

“I have learned something of great importance that I feel you should know. Your uncle has been asked to find a man that Cornelia’s intelligence network believes is Prince Dimitri.”

Of all of the subjects Annette had feared facing, this was the last one she expected.

“Oh… my,” she said weakly, feeling the blood drain from her face. Was this further proof that Uncle Aethelbert knew about her meeting with Felix at the ball? If so, why tell her mother?

Amelie didn’t seem to notice Annette’s reaction. “Aethelbert feels torn, because going against the rightful King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is quite a different thing from supporting Cornelia’s endeavors in the absence of a Blaiddyd heir. But he has reason to believe that the prince is mad, from all of the reports coming in.”

“The same reports that said Dimitri murdered his uncle?” Annette asked, unable to restrain her anger. Cornelia was a sly operator, but Annette still hated her on principle, and had done as much as possible to escape her notice ever since the Baron had yielded.

Her mother gave her a shrewd look.

“That is true. But you do not seem surprised by any of this news.”

Damn it, Annette’s face had given her away after all. Why couldn’t she mask her feelings better?

“No, of course I am!” she protested. “I was sure he was dead!”

“You’re a horrible liar, my dear,” her mother said, shaking her head. “How many times did I catch you sneaking desserts?”

“Um…”

Amelie laid a hand on her shoulder.

“For goddess’s sake, Annette. I’m your mother. I have no love for Cornelia, you should know that. Your father is fighting her—where do you think my allegiances lie?”

Annette gripped her mother’s hand.

“I’m so sorry. You always know when I’m not speaking the whole truth,” she made herself meet her mother’s gaze. “I… um… overheard Cornelia’s emissary speaking with Uncle.”

“How long ago was this?” Amelie asked sharply.

“Before the ball.”

“Oh Annie,” she squeezed Annette’s shoulder and retracted her hand. “That explains so much… You’ve been so unhappy since you came back from Fhirdiad. Longer than that, if I’m honest with myself.”

Annette flinched as her mother’s gaze delved into her. It felt like every secret she held was visible. But Amelie’s next words rocked her like a physical blow.

“I have been so selfish, keeping you here. Your costume was symbolic, and I completely missed it—a caged bird.”

“What do you mean?” Annette’s voice squeaked on the last word.

Her costume had been entirely dictated by the meeting with Felix; she had no idea who had chosen the theme or why. But Annette didn’t feel safe informing her mother of Felix’s involvement—Amelie’s ignorance was a means of protection if she was ever questioned about her knowledge of Annette’s activities.

“When is your reunion, Annie?” her mother asked, throwing Annette off with the sudden shift in subject.

“In Ethereal Moon, on the 25th.”

“That is too far away.” Amelie gripped her hands together. “I must think what to do.”

“For what?” Annette asked, alarmed. “Mother, what’s wrong?”

Amelie’s expression darkened, and Annette felt her heart speed up again. “Your uncle is in talks with an Imperial noble family, discussing the possibility of a betrothal. They are close to an agreement, and he will not let you leave here once that happens.”

“What?!”

Her mother’s gaze sharpened, the normally soft blue of her eyes hard as flint. “He’s not doing this by choice—Cornelia has all but ordered he open the channel of communication. She’s looking to strengthen her grip, which lends credence to the rumors that Prince Dimitri is alive. I won’t allow her to use you. Not when I can do something about it.”

Annette was too stunned to speak. Helplessly, she watched her normally unflappable mother pace across the carpet, chewing on her lip. Annette had forgotten she’d learned that nervous habit from Amelie; her mother did it so rarely.

“Your class reunion… those students are all loyal to the Kingdom, aren’t they?” her mother asked after an uncomfortable silence.

Annette nodded. “Half of them are fighting Cornelia in the east.”

Amelie ceased pacing and put her hands atop Annette’s shoulders.

“Then you must go to your friends and rally around your Prince. That is what you want most, isn’t it?”

It was the wish of Annette’s heart, but the guilt that arose from the acknowledgment threatened to overwhelm her.

“Mother, I can’t leave you here!”

Amelie’s eyes flashed, and she tightened her grip.

“You must! I will never forgive myself if you were forced into a soulless marriage as a bargaining chip. Go and live for what you believe in—with the people you love.”

“Love?”

Annette wasn’t fully cognizant she’d spoken the word aloud—her mind had flown back to the moment when Felix insisted she leave Fhirdiad with him. How she felt the irony of that situation now. She could already be in Fraldarius with him if she’d known her mother’s true loyalties.

“Your friends, of course,” Amelie said, looking at Annette with an odd expression. “Oh Annie, do you still have feelings for that one young man in your class?”

“NO! I mean...” she looked down at the swirling patterns in the pastel carpet and sighed. “I don’t know what I feel. I’m all muddled up.”

“Even if you’re not sure of your heart, it’s rotting away here. You need to find out what it seeks.”

She raised a hand when Annette opened her mouth to protest. “My mind is made up, Annie, I won’t let you sacrifice your life for us. We need to concoct a cover story for your disappearance. I should be able to buy you a few weeks without your uncle suspecting the truth until it’s clear you’re not coming back. By the end of the week, you’ll go to Fhirdiad.”

“But Uncle knows where Mercie lives, his coachman took us there!” Now she was the one pacing the carpet. “Oh, how stupid was I? And I’d be right under Cornelia’s nose.”

“Then maybe you’ll need to travel beyond Cornelia’s reach. Perhaps to… Fraldarius territory?”

Amelie shot her a significant look, and Annette felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Goddess save her, she would never survive the world's kindest interrogator.

“I… believe Father is there,” was all she said. “Fighting for Lord Rodrigue.”

“Then it sounds like the perfect destination, does it not?”

Annette shook her head emphatically. “I lost my opportunity to go there earlier. I don’t know if I could find my way to their forces on my own. Mercie has... connections there. I will ask her.”

“Then we haven’t a moment to lose,” her mother said, clapping her hands decisively. “Write your friend tonight, and I’ll dispatch it with a trusted messenger tomorrow. Then I will prevail upon Aethelbert to send you to Fhirdiad for some new clothes, under the guise of making a good impression upon Cornelia’s handpicked suitor. When you travel, take Yves and Gentile with you.”

Annette nodded, recognizing the names of her mother’s two most trusted retainers, who had been chosen by her father in her childhood. Her mother returned the acknowledgment, and continued outlining her plan.

“You can pass messages through them to your friend Mercedes. I think it best that you don’t see her while in Fhirdiad. When you’re finished with the modiste, I think it best if you travel in the Dominic carriage with Yves and Gentile a certain distance west, then stage things like you were attacked… say by bandits? If your friend can meet you on the road and supply you a horse and a place to lay low, that would be ideal. If not, talk to my men for guidance and head east for Fraldarius on your own.”

Annette crossed the room to take Amelie’s hands in her own. “Mother, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t cry, child, or you’ll start me bawling, too,” Amelie gave her a watery smile. “Pack the things you most care about, and if there’s anything you need stored for safekeeping, leave it with me.”

Annette knew she needed to head to her chamber to get started, but she was loathe to leave her mother knowing they would be parting soon, perhaps forever.

“I will try to write to you,” she insisted. “If there’s a way, I’ll find it.”

Amelie touched her fingers to Annette’s cheek in a comforting caress. “I know you will. Just keep yourself safe until you rejoin your friends. I wish I could join you to fight, but that’s for the young.”

“And Father.” Annette couldn’t hide the bitter edge to her voice.

“Indeed. I will be praying to the goddess every day to keep you both safe. When the war is over, perhaps you’ll both return to me. Or I will join you, if it’s possible.”

“I really hope so, and I will do my best to make it happen,” Annette said. “I’m going to miss you so much, Mother. I love you.”

“And I love you,” Amelie said, leaning her forehead against Annette’s.

Straightening, she continued, “Now, you have packing to do, and I have a trip to Fhirdiad to arrange. If all goes according to plan, you’ll be on the road in a few days.”

* * *

_1 Ethereal Moon, 1185_

_Cornelia,_

_My niece and heir to House Dominic, Annette, was abducted on her return voyage from Fhirdiad. I humbly request your aid in locating her, we haven’t received a ransom note and there is no sign of her anywhere. Poor Amelie and I are at our wit’s end worrying about her. Annette’s carriage was overturned and her traveling companions were knocked out without seeing their assailants. Obviously negotiations with House von Glanz must be put on hold until Annette is found._

_My deepest thanks for your attention to the matter._

_Aethelbert, Baron Dominic_

* * *

25 Ethereal Moon, 1185

3:30 am, near Garreg Mach Monastery

Amelie Dominic’s plan had been nothing short of brilliant. Everything she had suggested had gone without a hitch, and Mercedes had indeed been happy to help. Annette had exchanged several notes with Mercie during her stay in Fhirdiad. And she’d performed her act, parading to an exclusive modiste’s and milliner’s shops and putting on the full show of a noblewoman expecting to enter courtship. (Now, she had a complete wardrobe she’d never get to wear, except for one cute day ensemble she’d requisitioned from the collection for her new life.)

Mercie had procured the necessary horses on the day of Annette’s staged abduction, and had met her at a horse’s rest stop half a mile down the road from the carriage scene (which a well placed Wind spell had overturned). Annette had reeled in shock at the sight of her friend, who had chopped off all of her luscious locks to just below her skull, and was dressed in a style that looked like a fashionable religieuse.

Mercedes had directed their way to an orphanage in a small town outside of the western edge of Charon territory. There, they’d spent the weeks leading up to the reunion working among the children. Annette had even gotten the chance to expand on her limited Faith magic from the number of scraped knees and cuts she’d helped Mercie heal. And to practice baking with her best friend for the first time in years.

Now, they were on foot, leading their horses laden with all of their packs and food supplies—including a good supply of Mercie’s baked treats—after departing the orphanage for the last time. The gibbous moon had lit the way for most of the uphill trek towards Garreg Mach Monastery, and the distant buildings were cast in an eerie glow in the clear night. Annette tightened her grip on the hood covering her ears, grateful that walking was less cold than riding had been, and that the ground was solid with chill, but not icy. She was klutzy enough in the heat of summer, and she didn’t want to show up to the reunion in her new day dress and hooded mantle all covered in mud.

“Not much farther, Annie,” Mercie said from her left, holding her horse’s reins. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold and tired, but your healing spell helped so much with the aches and pains earlier,” Annette said. “I hope there’s somewhere to camp out that’s warm in the monastery.”

“I hope there aren’t any ruffians to fight.”

“If there are, I’m sure some of our friends will be more than up for it,” Annette said cheerfully. They were close to the city within the monastery walls, which meant minutes away from seeing the others—including Felix. At last.

“I can think of one in particular,” Mercie giggled, and Annette felt her face flush.

They fell back into a companionable silence, and listened to the breeze rattling through tall tufts of dead grass, and evergreen shrubs that lined the path. The night sky was lightening by degrees, and the moon sank down towards the edge of the horizon, signaling the approach of dawn. Annette recognized the gates of Garreg Mach yards ahead, and startled at the sounds of blades clashing and voices shouting.

“What’s going on?” she cried, shooting an alarmed look at Mercie.

“We’d better tie up the horses and go find out.”

They found a sturdy tree with low branches just off the road, and tied their animals to it, then quickly unpacked weapons—staffs, bow, and ax—and concoctions. Then they raced towards the gates.

Mercie quickly outpaced her, with her longer legs, and Annette huffed to keep up, which was somewhat challenging in the tighter skirt of her new outfit. She’d ordered it to be a fun ivory, blue, and burnt orange spin on the Mage uniform, and it had more than lived up to expectations in that regard—but it definitely limited her steps, even with the two low splits in front.

“Oh, I haven’t seen any of you in such a long time! I’m so glad to see you’re alive,” she heard Mercie saying up ahead, and followed the direction of her voice, anticipation rising with each step.

She joined her friend and gaped at the sight of the tall, bedraggled man with a mane of matted blond hair—Dimitri?—fighting bandits alongside none other than the Professor. How was she alive, and where had she been all of this time?

Swallowing her shock, Annette announced, “We’ll help out from here! It’s over, thieves!”

The man who had to be Dimitri whirled in their direction, shock evident on his features, and Annette tried not to recoil over how his refined good looks and air of kindness had vanished into a face that was cold and hard. Like Cornelia’s spies had reported, he sported a black eyepatch over his right eye, and he stood taller than Annette had remembered. His armor was black-plated, with a blue sword over the breastplate, and a long blue cloak with several animal furs gracing the shoulders completed his transformation.

“Why… why are you here?” he asked, in a voice that Annette recognized, but without any warmth to it.

The Professor advanced to engage an Assassin, and Dimitri’s attention left Annette and Mercedes to charge an impending foe. Steel clashed, and Dimitri’s roar of victory sounded almost animalistic. Annette cringed, but didn’t have time to dwell on the prince’s appearance any longer; several opponents appeared from the alleyways to face her and Mercie.

They joined the fray. Annette threw several Wind spells at an archer, slamming him into a wall, where he slid down unmoving, neck twisted at an awkward angle. Mercie alternated between black magic and Nosferatu, and they moved deeper into the city.

In the distance beyond where the Professor and Dimitri fought, Annette spied the figures of Ashe and her father, and hoped that others were still on the way—not fallen to the villains who’d turned the monastery and its city into their personal lair.

The fight continued, and it felt like the entire gang of thieves had appeared to meet them. Dawn broke in the sky above, tinging the sky blue-gray with a hint of pink, and Annette dispatched a brawler with Excalibur. She was relieved that her crest of Dominic had activated for that attack, she really needed to preserve her spells with this many enemies, and all she had for an alternate weapon was an Iron Ax.

She was out of practice with axes, and hoped some of their other friends would burst through from the other side of the city any minute, triumphant expressions on their faces at clearing out the rest of the bandits. But there was no sign of anyone else from the Blue Lion House, even though she heard her father’s battle cry in the distance, the swish of Ashe’s arrows flying through the air, and the clang of steel from Dimitri and the Professor’s weapons.

She got separated from Mercie sometime later, and worried how many more Assassins and Brawlers she’d have to face before finding support. She was down to a couple of Wind spells, a few Cutting Gales and Sagittaes, one Excalibur, and a handful of Nosferatus. The whinny of a horse overhead broke into her consciousness, and she looked up to see a blond woman astride a pegasus, swinging a lance at a thief and cutting her down. Ingrid.

Annette’s heart sped up. If Ingrid was here, surely that meant…?

“Annette! So good to see you!” Ingrid shouted at her. “We could use your help over here, follow me.”

Annette waved back, and picked up her skirts, finding a new burst of energy in her tired legs as she dashed across the cobblestone roads, keeping the Pegasus Knight in her sights. She ran for what felt like ages, cutting down several more attackers with Wind. She used her last Excalibur on an armored fighter, who went down like a ton of bricks.

_Keep going, you’ve got this!_

Finally, Ingrid rounded the corner of a building, and Annette skidded around it in her heeled boots. Yards ahead, she saw Sylvain race by on horseback, his lance thrust forward. A blast of fire burst forth, which he dodged, and took down the mage who'd cast it. The smoke from the spell blew in her face, and she closed her eyes against the sting. A gust of wind precipitously blew it away, and Annette pulled her hair out of her mouth to scan the road ahead. And that’s when she saw him.

After the double shock of seeing Dimitri and the Professor, Annette should have been out of shocks to give. But watching Felix in the thick of battle, blade dancing, dressed in an elegant teal tunic with a fur-trimmed cloak she immediately labeled as “dashing,” she was hit with the largest one of all.

She had really, deeply missed him, and something sizzled inside her that had nothing to do with battle adrenaline or the familiar tingle of magic. Felix cut down his opponent and stood still, his face in profile to her, eyes focused on the next opponent. And Annette knew the truth.

She had more than a crush on Felix Hugo Fraldarius. This was something more, and it had been there all along, lurking beneath the surface of her consciousness.

She truly was her mother’s daughter, down to the same foolish heart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix’s emotions get the better of him in battle. Byleth’s recruits to the Blue Lion House join the fun. Annette has a terrible, no good, very bad day. Sylvain gives unwanted (and accurate) advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so much later than other updates, the events of the past few weeks have been too compelling to look away from—as well as too important. I hope everyone is staying safe even as we watch freshly made history unfolding before us. I’ve been reevaluating what standards I’ve taken for granted or felt powerless to change before, and seeing ways they can be extended to everyone. I think the national discussion is long overdue, and I hope positive change is on the horizon.
> 
> Back to this chapter! It’s longer than normal, but hopefully that’s a good thing after two weeks. I hope the battle scene isn’t too long, I haven’t written one in a while (feedback there is always really appreciated!). Also, I generally dislike diverging from canon, but in the interest of making things more entertaining, I’ve decided to play around with having characters who were recruited by Byleth not show up after the reunion battle. They’ll show up in other contexts, but what that looks like will be different. ~_^
> 
> HUGE thanks to Sara and Candi for your betas of the chapter, I was really uncertain about it, and you guys really helped me finish it! Thank you to Roxyryoko and Safraninflare for listening to me whine and keeping me focused; also to everyone in Sylgrid and Seteth’s Office for your support!

_25 Ethereal Moon_

_Dawn_

Felix Hugo Fraldarius never felt as alive as when he faced down an enemy on the battlefield.

All of the confusion and uncertainty in his life faded away. His world was starkly defined by his tactics, his read of his opponent’s skills, and his ability to deliver the victory. He rarely admitted even to himself that he hated killing someone else’s loved one. But the crystallized moments of clarity he felt when he took his opening stance—the calculations running through his mind of how to win and to do it as cleanly as possible—grounded him more than anything else.

As much as Felix hated to acknowledge it, walking into Garreg Mach Monastery and straight into a battle had calmed his nerves. Even though the unhinged appearance of the boar—and the Professor being _alive_ —had initially shaken him, his mind in battle was clear, emotionless, and in control.

He’d dispatched one of the bandits and prepared to take on three more, when a blast of wind blew past him and one of his opponents crashed into a wall from the impact.

_Annette._

His focus faltered when she came up slightly behind his left side, hands thrust out in preparation of casting another spell. It was as familiar to him as fighting with Ingrid and Sylvain, this deep-seated understanding of how Annette focused on the opponents farther away, leaving the closest ones for him. Had it really been five years since they’d fought together like this?

Felix stepped forward and engaged a brawler, dispatching him with two strikes. An archer who’d been taking aim at him from his far left was struck down with a powerful blast of Cutting Gale. He cut down the last enemy, and turned to regard the orange-haired vision in ivory, blue, and orange.

“This way,” he said, allowing a small smile to cross his lips, just from the recognition that she was once again fighting at his side.

“I’m with you!” she said, pumping her fist for emphasis.

For a suspended moment, they looked at each other, smiling faintly. Then Felix turned back towards where all the action was, near the center of town, and followed the sounds of battle, knowing Annette was keeping pace behind him. It was odd that, for all that he hated fighting with others during the Academy, he’d grown comfortable with her. She’d become part of his battle calculations as an asset, a tactic he could employ for best chances of success.

They fought more enemies with their normal division of battle, emerging largely unscathed. Once, Felix had jumped in front of Annette with the Aegis shield glowing on his left arm, deflecting an arrow headed straight for her while she’d been engaged with an assassin. Another time, she’d stepped in the path of an oncoming spell, absorbing its impact with so much less damage than he would have taken, even with Aegis.

They heard a commotion near the town square, and Ingrid appeared overhead, watching the scene.

“The Professor just disarmed their leader,” she called down. “Looks like it’s over—no, wait, he’s running away. How?”

“We’ll cut off his escape route on this side,” Annette said before Felix had opened his mouth to reply.

Ingrid nodded, “I’ll head towards Dimitri, he’s alone and I think he’s in their path.”

She flew away. Felix exchanged a glance with Annette, then followed. Their progress was slowed by other fleeing bandits, whom they dispatched as quickly as possible. But Felix could hear the boar shouting up ahead, something about vile rats scurrying from their nest, and the whooshing sound of a spear swinging in the air. He picked up his pace, and ran to the end of the cobblestoned road, where the sounds of battle were loudest.

Felix entered the junction of two roads, Annette huffing behind him, and stopped short. Dimitri’s spear had run through the bandit leader, pinning him to the ground. And the look on the prince’s face was blank.

It was like flashing back seven years, when Felix had been squire to Dimitri in their first battle and seen him go into a berserker rage. But this—this was worse. That Dimitri had come down from battle rage and become emotional. This one didn’t seem to have any emotions left.

Annette gasped, and Felix automatically blocked her from pushing past him by raising his arm. Knowing he’d been right all along about the boar’s bloodthirsty nature didn’t feel vindicating. The last thing he wanted was to see the hope die on Annette’s face.

For a long moment, they stood suspended, Annette’s body close enough that he could feel the heat of her expelled breath through the fabric of his sleeve. It was broken when the bandit leader spoke his last words.

“I thought it would be easy money… maybe it wasn’t… meant to be.”

Annette took a deep breath, and released it out her mouth. Felix glanced down at her, wishing there was some way to erase the shock and doubt from her face. But he knew he was powerless to do anything. He hated the feeling as much as he hated losing a bout.

As if sensing his regard, Annette looked up and met his gaze. Felix’s mind stuttered to a halt, thoughts scattering like a battalion whose leader just fell. Her blue eyes were wide, her feelings palpable on her face, like she’d done for as long as he’d known her.

This was the first time he’d really looked at her since their truncated year; her mask at Cornelia’s masquerade ball had denied him that. Annette had grown into the bone structure of her heart-shaped face, and seemed both softer and harder at the same time. Her skin glowed, despite the dirt and grime streaked across her cheeks. The hint of sadness in the set of her mouth made him want to do something reassuring, like…

_Oh shit._

An image flashed into Felix’s mind, of him holding her, offering her his understanding, imagining the way she’d fit into his arms. No, no, no, he wasn’t thinking about this—they were on a battlefield, for goddess’s bloody sake! His body went rigid, and Annette turned when someone called out her name—Ashe.

Felix couldn’t hear Annette’s reply over the roar of panic in his head. This was all wrong. His feelings stayed locked up for a goddessdamned reason, because of their ability to overwhelm him when he least expected it. But there they were, clamoring for attention.

He dropped his arm and walked away.

Felix strode mindlessly, struggling to get a grip on himself, employing the breath techniques he’d learned from his father as a boy, back when Lord Rodrigue was still the man he looked up to. For years now, Felix was compartmentalized in battle, his world narrowed down to just himself and the enemy and their dance of life and death. There wasn’t room for anything else, and that’s how it always had been—until Annette Fantine Dominic.

What power did she hold over him? He wasn’t a man who reached out to comfort others; he just fought harder. That was the way things were supposed to work.

“Felix! Where are you going?”

Ingrid’s voice broke into his consciousness, as well as her surprisingly strong grip on his shoulder.

“What?” he snapped, and scowled when he realized everyone was in a group standing in front of Dimitri and the Professor, all of them staring at him.

Ingrid presented her trademark look of disapproval. He covered up his consternation with a careless shrug and turned around to join her at the farthest part of the assemblage, the opposite side from where Annette stood.

Ingrid immediately spoke to the Professor and the boar, expressing her gratitude that they were safe.

“Why are you here?” the boar growled, and Ingrid flinched when his eyes met hers.

Felix stared him down when the boar’s eyes moved over to him, and felt very little satisfaction when the prince looked away. If he’d ever thought that his former friend was covering his beastliness with a polite facade during the Academy years, he sure as hell wasn’t bothering now. He looked feral, tall, unwashed, his blond hair scraggly and wild, his one good blue eye emotionless. Compared to how insane he’d looked after discovering the identity of the Flame Emperor, this was almost worse.

The others responded in a chorus, reminding the boar of the promise he’d had them make for the reunion. Felix kept his gaze fixed on the prince, even as his mind registered Annette’s attempt at cheerfulness.

“Don’t be silly! Of course you remember our promise. That’s why you and the Professor are here, right?”

The boar’s face remained expressionless, and Gilbert leaped into the fray, bowing like a pathetic vassal. Felix’s gaze darted between the boar and Annette while Gilbert spoke of his mission to find His Highness, and of his relief that he lived. Felix’s disgust deepened when he watched Annette’s face blanch at her father’s total disregard of her, standing mere feet away. All Gilbert saw was his sovereign—if a creature like that was fit for such a position.

_It’s like he’s a mindless beast. Worse than a boar._

“I am not a prince, but a walking corpse,” Dimitri said, and for once Felix was inclined to agree with him.

The Professor asked a question in her understated way, and the boar startled, but answered with less rancor in his voice. And Felix wondered again at her ability to control the prince back at the Academy. Could she somehow pull off a miracle and restore him to a more stable state? He doubted anyone could succeed but her, even if Gilbert was ready to move the heavens to make it happen.

Gilbert inquired after the prince’s escape, and Dimitri’s brusque answer made everyone freeze.

“Dedue.”

Mercedes gasped, and Ingrid stiffened beside Felix. He glanced at her curiously, surprised to see the grief on her face when the boar described how Dedue took his place in Cornelia’s prison and died for him. Felix had known about Ingrid’s hatred of Duscur, but he hadn’t realized she’d overcome it enough to care about the Duscur man’s passing.

Gilbert continued speaking while the former students reeled over Dedue’s loss, talking about the state of the Kingdom and which nobles were aligned with Cornelia, as if he were standing in Lord Rodrigue’s place and channeling his thoughts. Felix watched Annette cringe, and knew she had to be thinking of her uncle, the kowtowing coward. He noticed Gilbert didn’t mention House Dominic, the only hint that he at least felt some shame for his daughter’s sake.

The Professor inquired after Cornelia, her ignorance of the woman’s identity shocking. Where had she been all of this time, living under a rock?

Gilbert launched into lengthy explanation about the state of the Kingdom’s forces, and their need for the prince to reclaim his birthright and lead the armies to reclaim Fhirdiad. It was a good speech, Felix had to grudgingly hand it to him. Sylvain added that Houses Gautier and Fraldarius still were fighting, trying in his less direct way to convince the boar to become the face of their army.

The prince stood still, his expression unreadable.

“You are still needed, Dimitri,” the Professor said softly, and those words roused him.

“I see,” he said, his gaze shifting to the ground. “So, you all agree we must fight back.”

Then his mouth opened and spewed so much vitriol about Edelgard and the need to wipe out all of her forces that everyone shifted uneasily. The madness had reared its ugly head once more.

Annette laughed nervously and voiced what everyone was thinking.

“Wipe them out? Um, I don’t think any of us here are suggesting anything that extreme.”

Gilbert sighed expressively, and Felix debated slugging him on the spot. He settled for clenching his fists at his side.

The meeting adjourned shortly afterwards, with Gilbert asking the Professor to join him inside the monastery for a prolonged discussion—likely beginning with where the hell she’d been the last five years. They walked off companionably, and the rest of his former classmates stared silently at the boar for a long moment. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, Dimitri turned and silently stalked into the monastery, his steps heavy.

Mercie and Ashe immediately surrounded Annette, murmuring in low voices, and Sylvain and Ingrid turned to face Felix.

“Hoo boy,” Sylvain breathed on a sigh. “That was… unexpected.”

Ingrid didn’t bother correcting him for once.

Felix crossed his arms, and watched the boar’s retreating figure. Not even Lord Rodrigue would be able to sell this version of the prince as a rallying force. Unless the Professor had the divine power to rebuild whatever had broken inside of him, they were truly in trouble.

* * *

After Mercedes had checked over everyone for minor injuries, the former students made their way inside the monastery. Felix was unsurprised by the general state of disarray. The main buildings were structurally sound, save for some fire damage or the occasional pile of rubble. What struck him most was how deserted the place was, the reception hall devoid of footsteps echoing across the large open space. The absence of the annoyingly perky gatekeeper—along with the formerly ubiquitous Knights of Seiros—stung more than he’d expected.

Felix hung back from the group while they explored. His mind had not settled from the devastating realization on the battlefield. His fixation on Annette had worsened into a chronic illness, a state which made his heart race any time she laughed or caught his eye.

There was no escaping the truth: he wanted her in a way he’d never wanted anyone.

But Felix was a master of self denial in pursuit of larger goals—it was how he’d survived five years of war. These distracting feelings would have to go into lockdown, perhaps forever. There was no other choice.

Felix had barely formed the resolution when Ingrid and Sylvain fell back to his side and tried to engage him in conversation. After enough failed attempts, they resorted to their normal behavior of Sylvain saying increasingly outrageous things until he’d goaded a reaction out of Ingrid.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” Ingrid demanded, slugging him in the arm.

“I’ve learned to take that right hook quite seriously!”

Felix ignored their antics, and tried to focus on their surroundings, but his eyes kept straying to the back of Annette’s head. She walked at the front of their entourage, her left arm linked with Mercedes’, and Ashe happily chattering on her right. Snatches of their discussion drifted backwards, mostly about what Ashe had done after abandoning House Rowe when they’d sided with Cornelia.

They entered into the empty dining hall, which still had its tables intact, even though a number of chairs and been upended or broken in some kind of scuffle. Ingrid darted forward and greeted Dorothea Arnault and Petra Macneary, who were huddled together near the entrance to the fish pond.

“You came! I’m so glad to see you both,” Ingrid said, hugging each woman in turn.

“To think you ladies got lovelier over the years!” Sylvain said, veering over to join the group. Petra blinked and smiled politely, while Dorothea didn’t bother to disguise her amusement.

“Why Sylvain, to think your hair got spikier over the years!” she quipped, flashing him a practiced smile.

Felix groaned, and resigned himself to the chorus of greetings when Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe joined them. Deep down, he was heartened to see _any_ _one_ from the original Black Eagle House, even though quite a few had transferred into the Blue Lions by the end of the year, including Caspar von Bergliez, Linhardt von Hevring, and Ferdinand von Aegir. Not that Felix expected to see them—all of them had fathers who had sided with Emperor Edelgard, except for Ferdinand, whose father had been deposed. Felix wouldn’t honestly be surprised if Ferdinand had ingratiated himself with Edelgard to save his own skin; he’d never met anyone more proud of being noble.

With the new additions, the group headed outside to the patio overlooking the fish pond and greenhouse. The weak winter sunlight sparkled across the surface of the water, and Felix found himself directly behind Annette as they descended the steps. The judiciously placed bow above her rear swayed with each step she took, and Felix felt heat creeping up his neck. Goddess take him, he was getting as bad as Sylvain. He quickly skirted around Annette once they’d reached the pond, and headed a safe distance away.

More former classmates appeared. Hilda Goneril’s twin pink ponytails sashayed into Felix’s line of sight, along with her timid blue-haired shadow, Marianne von Edmund, and the shock of white hair belonging to Lysithea von Ordelia. He watched the former Golden Deer ladies greet the rest of their cohort, and blinked in surprise that all of the women stood above Annette, even the once diminutive Lysithea.

Minutes later, a much taller Caspar von Bergliez appeared behind the cluster of chattering women. After enthusiastic greetings were exchanged, Petra asked where Caspar’s best friend was.

“Linhardt says he’s gonna sit the war out at home because he hates battle,” Caspar shook his head, his cyan-colored locks flying, and his previous good cheer evaporated.

“But his father won’t allow that for long. I’m afraid I’ll be facing him across the battlefield one day.”

“Whatever is Linhardt _thinking_?” Hilda asked, drawing out the syllables in the last word. “You can’t just sit out a war. I’d have done it if it were possible.”

Conversation ceased when a tall man with a long mane of orange hair came down the steps from the dining hall—Ferdinand von Aegir. He hesitated at the edge of the silent group watching his approach. Everyone started speaking at once, but a clear voice rose above the cacophony.

“If it isn’t our friendly neighborhood bee!” Dorothea said in greeting, an odd note in her tone. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

“A pleasure to see you, Dorothea,” Ferdinand said simply, and made a quick bow that his Academy self would have criticized as ungallant. “It’s a true honor to see you all again.”

Felix’s eyes widened when Ferdinand bowed again, and headed his way. They’d never gotten along particularly well, despite the mutual hours spent in the training grounds. The few times they’d sparred, he had been surprised by how well Ferdinand had held his own, even though Felix had won the majority of their bouts.

“Felix, no long time no see,” Ferdinand said in greeting.

He bobbed his head in a sign of respect Felix had never seen from him at the Academy, when he’d been convinced of his own superiority. What had happened over the last five years to alter him so thoroughly?

Ferdinand brushed his hair over his shoulder and stood beside Felix, their gazes facing the group of happily chattering former classmates. No one appeared willing to drag them into the fray, although Felix noticed Dorothea looking curiously in their direction. She flashed him a smile when their eyes met and immediately redirected her attention to Ingrid. Strange.

“I can’t believe everyone’s here,” Ferdinand said. “After five years of fighting, this feels surreal.”

“I’m surprised to see anyone from the Black Eagles House,” Felix replied, seeing no reason to hide his opinion.

Ferdinand shrugged. “Everyone here has broken with Edelgard for different reasons, but they’re powerful enough to risk facing her across the battlefield.”

Felix turned and looked at his companion in keen appraisal. Ferdinand bore his scrutiny without visible discomfort or comment. Interesting.

“What about you?” Felix asked. “You said you’ve been fighting?”

“As a mercenary,” the taller man nodded. “I found work in Enbarr after my father’s house arrest and the annexation of our lands. Since then, I’ve been all over Fodlan, wherever the contracts took me.”

“Huh. Not the story I’d expected to hear.”

“I imagine not,” Ferdinand’s smile was self deprecating. “It’s certainly not the future I had expected. But Edelgard’s war against the Church of Seiros has only created more bloodshed, starvation, and misery for everyone, including her own citizens looking to her for leadership. Everywhere I went, it was the same story—devastated towns, fatherless and motherless children working the meager harvests alongside the elderly… and for what? Her hatred of crests? The crestless are worse off now than they were before.”

Felix nodded, stunned to find himself in complete agreement with the person who’d always irked him during their time in the Academy. That self-assured, privileged young man was gone. In his place was a broad-shouldered soldier whose eyes showed the same kind of wariness Felix saw in his own whenever he caught a rare glimpse of himself in a mirror.

Ferdinand seemed to have read his mind. “I’d half expected to come here and face condemnation for my past behavior—I certainly deserve it.”

Perhaps Felix had also changed, because he no longer felt the need to attack the man for his youthful arrogance.

“War changed us all,” he said. “I would be the last person to judge you for fighting to survive.”

This time, Ferdinand took his measure, then nodded once.

“Indeed. Still, I appreciate it. I doubt others will feel the same way, but that is my burden to bear.”

“Why are you two hiding over here with so many ladies present?” Sylvain interjected, detaching from the group to join them. “It’s positively ungallant.”

Felix snorted, and Ferdinand gave him a small smile before replying.

“You looked like you had the situation handled.”

Sylvain blinked in confusion, calculating whether to respond, and decided against it.

“We’re all needed to clean up the dining hall so everyone can eat their rations,” he said. “The ladies have insisted on washing all of the sheets on site after breakfast, so we’ve been instructed to see what’s left in our old bedrooms.”

Felix met his old friend’s eyes and nodded. All of that made sense, if they were camping on site at least for the time being. He certainly wanted to know more about where the Professor had been all this time, and what her plans were.

“We’d better get started,” Ferdinand said. “A long day awaits.”

* * *

_Mid-morning_

Nothing motivated Annette Fantine Dominic like the prospect of a hard day’s work, especially in the face of disaster.

The monastery was in total disrepair, Prince Dimitri was completely unrecognizable from the boy she’d once known, and Felix… was reserved and inscrutable when she’d hoped for warmth and welcome. Disaster was the theme of her day; all of her expectations smoldered in a smoking heap.

Biting down on her lip, Annette adjusted her slipping grip on the large metal trough that she, Lysithea, Marianne, Dorothea, and Ingrid had requisitioned from the stables for washing all the sheets in the dormitories. The five of them had hauled it across the monastery towards its final destination outside of the greenhouse, stopping to fill it with water from the fish pond, which a few fire spells would heat to boiling point (and cleanliness). They only had twenty yards to carry it now, but with the added water, the task was far more arduous.

“Okay, ladies, keep it up!” Hilda cheered them on from her vantage point just in front of the greenhouse door. “Annette, look out for that rock!”

The warning came seconds too late; Annette’s toes caught the edge of something sharp. She went flying into Dorothea’s back, and narrowly missed falling into the frigid interior before crashing to the ground. Water sloshed just over the edge where Annette had been carrying the basin, and the other women quickly dropped their unbalanced burden and stepped back.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Annette gasped, struggling to her feet before she got soaked as well as dusty.

The day was hurtling towards full blown catastrophe.

Lysithea crossed her arms and scowled at Hilda.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Who, _me_?” Hilda asked.

“There’s no time for excuses with this much work to do! We all know you’re strong. Get over here!”

“You think I can lift _that_ with my noodly little arms?” Hilda raised her arms up like they were made out of rubber. All Annette could see was well defined muscle, and an array of charm bracelets.

“ _I_ think Annette needs a rest,” Ingrid said decisively. “Come on, Hilda, we need you here.”

Hilda sighed elaborately, and strode to take Annette’s place at the back left corner. “Fine, if you insist.”

“I really am sorry, everyone,” Annette stared at the ground forlornly.

Marianne shot her a timid smile, and Dorothea patted Annette’s shoulder. “You did a great job helping us get this far.”

Mercedes exited the greenhouse, and Annette saw through the open door that she’d been hanging up clotheslines across the expanse of the miraculously undamaged space.

“Annie, will you help me gather up the sheets?” she asked.

Grateful to make her escape for a task even _she_ couldn’t easily botch, Annette nodded and joined her friend. Behind them, the others resumed carrying the basin. Mercedes directed their way towards the stairs leading to the second floor of the dormitories.

“I’ve already stripped sheets from the beds downstairs—the ones I could salvage,” Mercedes said by way of explanation.

“You’ve gotten so much done, Mercie! I feel like I’m barely doing anything in comparison.”

“Annie, that’s completely untrue. You’ve helped set so much of this in motion by seeing the possibilities and leading the rest of us to see them as well. Would we all even be at the reunion without your steadfast belief in our strength together?”

Annette had no answer to that, and the praise made her want to recoil. Mercie must have sensed that, for she changed the subject to more mundane matters, and they chatted easily while they ascended the stairs. Upon entering the long hallway, they were met with a chorus of reassuring sounds—the whisk of brooms against the floors and the rough scraping sounds of furniture being moved.

“My, what a hive of activity!” Mercedes said when they stopped outside of Caspar and Ferdinand’s old rooms, where both men were hard at work. “Gentlemen, would you mind leaving your sheets outside in the hallway for us to wash?”

“Wow, that’s so nice of you guys!” Caspar boomed from behind his door. “Sure thing!”

Ferdinand echoed his agreement, and Mercedes beamed. Annette realized the brilliance of her friend’s thought process by having the guys leave their sheets outside their doors—she and Mercie wouldn’t have to haul them all the way to the end of the hall and back. She hadn’t been upstairs much during their time in the Academy, and certainly no farther than Hilda’s room. The rooms beyond Edelgard’s former abode were all in the male domain, and Annette had never breached the threshold before now.

Her anxiety grew with each step they took, and she couldn’t lie to herself over why—Felix’s room had to be down here somewhere. Presumably with him in it. Goddess save her, what would she say to him?

After all of the months of missing him, waiting for the reunion for everything to magically work out and make sense, none of that seemed real any more. Felix had seen her and acted like nothing had changed from five years ago—like his intensity to take her away and that kiss on the balcony hadn’t even happened. And now that Annette knew she _really_ liked him, the idea of his being indifferent to her after all was more than painful, it was like a gaping hole in her chest.

 _Stop thinking about it, your face always shows your feelings, and you do not need this today of all days,_ she firmly told herself.

They bypassed a number of rooms after Ferdinand’s, which had belonged to students in other Houses now fighting elsewhere. That left the last three for where they’d find Felix and Sylvain. The sounds of cleaning had gotten louder the closer they came to the end of the hallway.

Mercedes stopped suddenly in front of the open door of the third room from the end. Annette froze beside her when her eyes met Felix’s. He stiffened and gripped his broom tightly, as though braced for an attack. Behind him was an open window, and the cool air felt refreshing against Annette’s warm cheeks.

“Hello Felix!” Mercedes said. “We’re here to collect the sheets for washing.”

A heartbeat passed, then two, while Felix silently held Annette’s gaze. She must have forgotten to breathe, for she felt light-headed and fluttery inside.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said at last, flicking his regard to Mercedes. “I can wash my own sheets.”

“That seems unnecessary when we’re already washing everyone else’s,” Mercie replied cheerfully. “It’s not at all a bother. I’m planning on asking all of you for manual labor later.”

Sylvain stepped out of his room, which was the last one.

“Whatever help you ladies need, we’re there for. Right Felix?”

Felix shrugged, and ducked his head. “Yeah, sure.”

“Wonderful!” Mercedes clapped her hands. “Is that Dimitri’s room in the middle? I’d better go strip the bed in there for him.”

She walked off, leaving Annette standing there, staring pathetically at Felix. Sylvain reentered his room, and the two of them were left alone, as frozen as the Saints statues in the cathedral. Annette doubted her face looked half as serene as St. Cethleann’s.

“Um… do you want help with that?” she asked after the seconds had ticked by without either of them speaking.

“It’s not a difficult task,” Felix mumbled, but made no move to get started.

“Right,” Annette nodded, feeling completely stupid.

“What happened to you?”

“Huh?” she blinked in surprise when Felix was suddenly standing in front of her, dark amber eyes trained on her clenched hands.

She followed the direction of his gaze and realized her new white gloves were streaked with dirt from her fall outside. Damn it. How did he always know when she’d taken a tumble?

“Oh, it’s nothing!” she said, dropping her hands to her side.

“Barrels in your path already?” he asked, quirking a brow.

“It’s not always barrels, I’ll have you know!” she retorted, and quieted when she realized she’d just admitted to another act of clumsiness.

Felix made the half smile that sent her innards quaking. “I’m surprised you don’t have a barrel song.”

“How do you know I don’t? And please keep your voice down,” Annette hissed. “The last thing I want is Sylvain asking about my silly songs.”

Felix regarded at her with the same expression, looking way too appealing for a man who enjoyed riling her up. Time to put a stop to his teasing.

“Are you going to strip that bed or do I need to do it for you?”

Felix hurriedly turned around and got to work, and Annette felt a smirk crossing her face at how much like her mother she’d sounded. She filed away the notation that it was effective on Felix, in case of future emergencies.

A minute later, he returned with a bulky bundle of sheets. Annette held out her arms to take the load from him, then realized her posture looked a lot more welcoming than that. Heat flooded her face, and she gratefully hid it behind the sheets when Felix deposited them in her arms. If the goddess spirited her away right now to the heavens, it might be considered a kindness.

“Th- thanks,” she mumbled.

“Need some help?” Sylvain asked from behind Annette, and she startled, dropping the sheets on the floor.

“Oh, you scared me, I’m sorry, let me pick this up...” Annette babbled as she leaned over to gather up the sheets.

Felix had immediately bent to help her, and Annette suddenly found her face inches from his own, their fingers inadvertently touching. Heat from embarrassment engulfed her so strongly, she marveled she hadn’t set the sheets on fire.

Felix retracted his hand, and all but shoved the sheets at her, his gaze averted. Annette blinked in surprise. Were his ears turning pink? That couldn’t be right…

Then she sneezed, loudly, from all of the dust that dropping the sheets had kicked up into the air. Please, goddess, have mercy on her soul and claim her now. She’d moved from disaster to devastation in one fell swoop.

“Oh my, those must be dusty!” Mercedes giggled from behind her. “We’d better get moving if we want to have everything washed and dry by this evening. Let’s hurry, Annie.”

“Right!” Annette exclaimed, a little too loudly. She practically leaped to her feet, nearly knocking heads with Felix, who was straightening at the same time. “Oh no, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Felix muttered, not meeting her eyes. “Go do what you need to do.”

Mercie sailed into the room and took Annette by the shoulder, “Thanks so much for your assistance. See you at lunch!”

Annette rushed out of the room, her face beet red, amazed that her limbs still worked well enough to carry her away.

There was no way around it, this day was doomed. Annette feared that all of her dreams were as well.

* * *

“What was with that performance?”

Felix glared at Sylvain, who’d entered his room after Annette and Mercedes had left. The last thing he needed right now was his nosy, surprisingly attuned friend poking at him while his emotions were running amok.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felix grumbled.

He turned his back on Sylvain and grabbed his broom.

“You were colder than a woman scorned towards Annette just now,” Sylvain continued, unperturbed.

Felix didn’t have to look at him to know Sylvain was leaning casually against the wall, ready to settle in and make his life a living hell. Whatever it was he felt about Annette, “cold” was as opposite from the reality as it got.

“Don’t you have bigger things to worry about right now?” he asked acerbically, resuming his sweeping with sharp, angry strokes. “The boar is a raving lunatic, and no one has acknowledged how bad it is.”

“Now there’s a subject change if ever I’ve seen one,” Sylvain drawled.

“Goddess smite me dead, are you really going to harass me about _that_ when we have a war to fight, and a completely mad prince to rally everyone around?”

Sylvain was silent long enough that Felix paused his attack on the colony of dust bunnies beneath his bed and shot a glance over his shoulder. His friend was half draped over the dusty bookshelf, and Felix uncharitably hoped it made him sneeze, like Annette had done earlier. The way she’d scrunched her face afterwards had done odd things to his blood pressure, but he would openly smirk if Sylvain found himself in the same predicament.

“Dimitri isn’t completely mad,” Sylvain finally said. “Some of him is buried under that angry shell.”

“Hmph,” Felix snorted, not bothering to hide his disdain. “Our childhood friend is dead.”

“We’re all different now,” Sylvain said. “You certainly are. Give Dimitri time. Maybe the Professor can work some kind of magic on him.”

“Yeah, assuming she doesn’t just disappear tomorrow like a wraith,” Felix said.

“I doubt it, she seemed pretty intent to learn everything that was going on. Crazy to think she didn’t even know who Cornelia is,” Sylvain shook his head in disbelief. “But after seeing her cut open the damn sky and step out of it, nothing about her surprises me any more.”

Felix didn’t disagree with that assessment, so he said nothing and kept sweeping. Whenever Sylvain bothered to apply himself, he thought like a master politician—more like Lord Rodrigue than even Felix was capable of doing.

“There, I’ve allowed you your chance to deflect me,” Sylvain said. “I’ve got one thing to say before I leave, and I want you to listen. If you keep avoiding Annette because she actually makes you feel something, eventually she’ll give up on you and look towards someone else for companionship.”

The serious turn of Sylvain’s voice and expression made Felix drop the broom and turn a disbelieving gaze at the older man. This level of directness was highly unusual, and it somehow stirred a need to reciprocate, although not as openly.

He settled for a derisive snort, and said, “Is this your way of saying that Ashe is looking at her differently from five years ago?”

His friend’s dark gaze felt like being stabbed by a knife; sharp and unyielding.

“Where Ashe is looking isn’t your problem,” Sylvain said. “It’s Annette’s feelings that matter. Avoiding her won’t get you the girl.”

Felix felt heat creeping up and neck, and crossed his arms. “Hmph.”

“Think about it. I don’t want to see you sad and alone forever, pal.”

Felix dared a glance at him, startled by the sober expression on Sylvain’s face. “If I survive this war, you mean?”

“You can’t think like that.”

“How would you have me think, like everything will be sunbeams and rainbows because the boar is alive? That going through women like a change of clothes brings happiness?”

“Not just your blade that’s sharp today, eh?” Sylvain said, shaking his head ruefully. “Perhaps because I’ve got experience wasting a lot of my life, you’ll actually listen to what I’ve learned through my mistakes. None of us can control what the future holds. Do you really want to risk dying without living a little first?”

The very idea of that sent Felix into a tailspin.

“It’s not that simple,” he protested, aware his voice sounded weak, and hating it.

“Sometimes it is. You just have to decide what matters most and fight like hell for it.” Sylvain stood up and stretched his arms behind his head, “But you of all people should know what that feels like.”

Dropping his arms, he turned and strolled into the hallway. Suddenly he stopped, placed his hand on the door frame, and looked at Felix over his shoulder with a pensive expression.

“Just remember, there is life outside of the battlefield. If you stand still for too long, eventually it will pass you by.”

Killing blow delivered, he sauntered away. Felix stared after him, feeling the same shock he felt the last time he’d spectacularly lost a bout to Glenn. That was the time he’d landed flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him, staring blindly at the ceiling to the sound of his brother’s laughter. He’d hated it then, and he hated it now, but he didn’t know a way to fight out of it and improve.

That realization made him feel even worse than seeing Dimitri completely stripped of humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got a Twitter account! Feel free to [visit me!](https://twitter.com/Kaerra3)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette withdraws and Lysithea calls her out. Felix and Annette play the “after you” game. Ashe asks Annette for a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this update is so late! Life just kicked me in the ass, and I kept plowing through a chapter that got longer and longer till I accepted it was two chapters. Hopefully that means the next one will be out around a week, since I wrote most of it already.
> 
> There is fanart for this fic! I’m so absolutely blown away! The very talented Erica45 drew Annette and Felix in their masquerade outfits, and you can go see it [here!](https://twitter.com/Erica4518/status/1277721054560083978) Thank you also for the feedback on the draft, Erica45, and roxyryoko. Thank you to the members of Seteth’s Office for all of the support while I forced myself to finish this when my brain wasn’t fully working. I appreciate you all!

19 Guardian Moon, 1186

If shattered expectations left a residue, Annette suspected that hers would contain an odd variety of pigments, from blood red to sky blue, detouring through purples and greens, before settling into a dusky charcoal. If Ignatz Victor had been in the Blue Lions, he could probably paint a masterpiece from the collective disappointments of her life.

The naive part of Annette’s brain that had celebrated how everyone getting back together would turn the tide of the war needed a good slap. Or at least the same dismissal that Dimitri had made at her attempt to be cheerful when they’d all met with Seteth and Flayn nearly two weeks ago. His scorn had not only made her realize how dire the situation still was, but that he’d humiliated her in front of all of her friends—worse, Felix _and_ her father—had wholly doused her spirits. Even the return of the Knights of Seiros as their allies, and the resumption of the Professor’s lectures on tactics and skill growth lessons hadn’t done much to raise her spirits.

“Maybe Dimitri’s right, and this is all a waste of time,” she muttered, yanking a bunch of weeds out by the roots.

She was currently on her knees in the greenhouse, doing the stultifying job of clearing out five years’ worth of weeds, and salvaging whatever edible crops they had. With Dedue’s passing, the Professor had assigned the task of restoring the greenhouse for food supplies to Annette, Ashe, and Mercedes. It had felt like a herculean task in the first few days. However, they’d made a lot of progress in the last two weeks, especially once they’d found the Duscur flowers that Dedue had planted were still alive. Maybe their survival symbolically meant that Faerghus still had a fighting chance. Mercedes insisted it was true, but Annette was afraid to hope.

Tossing more weeds into a bucket for composting, she found herself humming her disillusionment into a tune.

“A waste of time that’s barely worth a rhyme. Broken jagged pieces plaguing the war-torn mind.”

“ _There_ you are!” said a disgruntled voice from behind her.

Annette jolted, and slammed her knee hard against the short retaining wall that held all of the soil. What was it with people entering the greenhouse when she was singing?

Staggering to her feet, Annette turned to face Lysithea. The younger woman stood with her arms crossed in a way that eerily looked like Felix’s normal posture.

“Oh, hi there, sorry I didn’t hear you come in!” Annette said. “Did you need something?”

“Don’t you remember there’s a big meeting on tactics today?” Lysithea looked at her pointedly.

“I thought that was this afternoon?”

Lysithea’s eyes widened momentarily, and she gave a little shake of her head.

“It _is_ afternoon. Don’t tell me you’ve been working here all this time and missed lunch?”

“Um…”

Annette’s stomach growled loudly. Apparently it had decided that now was the opportune time to inform her that she’d neglected filling it.

“Wow, that’s absent-minded even for you,” Lysithea said. “Good thing I snagged some rolls on the way out. You can eat them on the way.”

“Thank you so much!” Annette bowed gratefully.

She bent and dunked her dirty hands into a nearby bucket of water, then dried them off with the last clean section of the dirt-streaked rag she’d used all day. Straightening, she took the proffered roll from her fellow mage and gratefully bit into the crisp crust.

“Delicious!” she moaned, and followed Lysithea out of the greenhouse into a light drizzle.

Swollen gray clouds hung low in the sky, and Annette was relieved it wasn’t storming. Even so, the women picked up their pace and hurried up the stairs parallel with the dorms, eating as they walked.

Mercedes had been baking nearly every day, helping the skeleton crew of the original kitchen staff. With their supplies limited to what the Knights of Seiros had brought with them, rations were on the thin side, and very rudimentary when it came to ingredients and seasoning. Most of their meat and fruit were dried, unless the Knights returned with fresh game from hunting. But those portions were generally small.The bulk of the daily mealswere filled out with soup, baked potatoes, and bread.

Lysithea and Annette had quit bemoaning the lack of sugary treats after the first week of going without them. Now it was a question of everyone getting enough to eat. Annette wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first topic of discussion at the tactics meeting. Armies moved on the strength of what they put into their stomachs.

“This is the first time I’ve talked to you in days. Where have you been hiding yourself?” Lysithea asked after several minutes passed with them companionably munching.

“The Professor put Mercie, Ashe, and I in charge of replanting the greenhouse,” Annette said around a mouthful of crusty goodness.

“Well, yes, I knew that. But I don’t think she expected you to work there every waking hour of the day that we’re not in meetings, either.”

Annette took a large bite to avoid having to answer. How could she begin to explain that she felt like a ghost wandering the monastery grounds since they’d all returned? Enough was similar that it felt like the Academy again, but the stark differences made it seem like she was looking at those memories through a distorted lens. The joys of that year felt threatened from today’s reality, by how many things were wrong, broken, or changed.

“Hilda told me not to say anything, but we really do need you to be yourself again, cheering everyone on and inspiring them to work harder,” Lysithea continued, her pink eyes serious. “Ever since the first day, you’ve acted peculiar. More like… well, Felix.”

“W- what?” Annette almost choked on a section of crust.

Eyes streaming from a sudden coughing fit, she cleared her throat and emphatically shook her head. “How could you think that?We’re nothing alike!”

 _Then why have you hidden yourself in the greenhouse all the time, interacting with the same two people?_ her mind asked her. _Whom else acts like that if not Felix?_

It was shocking to realize that Lysithea’s comparison was spot on. Annette hadn’t really felt the passage of time these last few weeks the way she ought to have done. Each day felt like the previous one, and she’d lost all sense of how much she’d retreated.

“Did you two have a fight, is that what this is about?” Lysithea asked.

Annette felt her cheeks warm, making the spray of raindrops feel cold on her face. “Of course not!”

“Oh, come on. You’re avoiding each other and acting oddly—even Felix has withdrawn more than he did before. Whatever it is, go sort it out with him! There isn’t time for this kind of childish behavior in wartime.”

For the first time in days, Annette felt a spark of anger. Yes, she had plenty of things to regret right now, but having her personal history and feelings about Felix treated like a juvenile whim wasn’t tolerable.

“I’m not hiding in the greenhouse because of anything Felix said,” Annette retorted, offering that partial truth. (He hadn’t _said_ anything to her in days.)

“If you really must know, it was something that Dimitri said, when I tried to get him to cheer up about being here together as a team.”

She quickly relayed the gist of the conversation, and how her comments eventually led to Dimitri’s calling them all fools and storming off.

Lysithea snorted, and tossed her hair so the tassels on her hair clips waved distractingly.

“How obnoxious! Don’t let the prince get to you. He’s a mess.”

“Yes, he is,” Annette agreed, deflated. “But he’s our leader, and I have to listen to his directives.”

They passed a few Knights of Seiros exiting the training grounds, and turned to the right, headed towards the enclosed passageway that led to the upstairs floors and their ultimate destination, the conference room. Lysithea waited till they were clear of other people, and lowered her voice.

“For someone so smart, you sure aren’t acting like it.”

Annette bristled, but relaxed when Lysithea turned to regard her with a serious look in her eyes.

“I won’t follow the orders of a man in the throes of vengeance,” she confided. “I’m here for one reason only: to protect my family. The Professor is the only person I really believe in who can win us this war. She’s the one I trust most to help me keep my parents safe.”

“That’s true,” Annette said thoughtfully.

“Of course it is! Think with the logical part of your brain, not the emotional one. That’s gotten you nowhere. We all know the prince is half-mad right now. But the Professor is back, and she’s really in charge, with Dimitri as the figurehead. As long as you have faith in her, get your fighting spirit back and apply it to help us win.”

Annette’s mind clicked through all of the salient points the other woman had made, evaluating each and finding everything sound. Why hadn’t she thought more carefully about the Professor’s role in the whole enterprise? Of course Byleth was in charge, and that’s who Annette needed to follow. Dimitri would hopefully grow into a King by the end of the war, if they survived to see it. But that wasn’t Annette’s problem right now; it was Byleth’s. All she had to do was maintain a supporting role, a niche which suited her perfectly.

“You’re completely right, Lysithea!” she said, and pumped her fist. “I’m not going to let Dimitri’s words bother me again, because the Professor is here. If anyone can help him, it’s her.”

Lysithea nodded sagely, but her eyes held a spark of vitality.

“Of course it is. He had a huge crush on her back in the Academy, it was plain as day. Maybe she can tap into those old emotions and at least get him to listen to reason.”

“What?” Annette gaped. “Dimitri and the Professor?”

“Oh, Annette…” Lysithea shook her head. “Were you living under a rock? Goddess, you and Felix really are more alike than I ever realized.”

“That’s not true! Gah!”

Lysithea looked at her burning face and giggled. “Here, eat the last roll, you clearly need it.”

* * *

Thanks to Lysithea’s timely intervention, they arrived at the conference room with three minutes to spare. Most of the seats were occupied on both sides of the two long tables that faced each other, and spanned over two thirds of the length of the room. Hilda beckoned to them from the table on the right, and Lysithea made a beeline towards her. Annette moved to follow when Mercie’s voice caught her attention.

“Annie, you made it! I’ve saved you a seat!” Mercedes waved from her chair near the middle of the left table. An empty place was to her left.

Annette hurried over, and momentarily froze when Felix’s startled gaze met hers from the chair on the other side. Mercie had saved her a seat next to him? A quick glance at her friend’s amused face made Annette realize the choice had been deliberate. Ugh.

Well, she couldn’t refuse to sit there without looking even more foolish than she had already. Face burning up, Annette pulled the chair out and slid so quickly into it that she rammed her undamaged knee into the table leg. Wonderful.Now she’d have matching bruises.

Sylvain, who was seated on Felix’s left, turned his head and smiled at her.

“The room just got a lot nicer to look at with your arrival.”

“Um… thanks?” she mumbled, feeling the flames that had lit her cheeks moments earlier start rekindling.

“You’re using pick-up lines at a tactics meeting?” Felix retorted, and she blinked in surprise. “Give it a rest already. Annette isn’t some foolish girl to waste your wiles on.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes at his childhood friend and shot Annette a look she couldn’t decipher. She barely managed a smile, and turned away to stare across the table, where Hilda held court in the middle seat directly across from Felix, with Caspar across from Sylvain, and Lysithea facing Annette.

Annette met the appraising gazes of both women and quickly looked down at the patterns of the wood’s grain in the gleaming surface of the tabletop. That Lysithea had already caught on to Annette’s behavior around Felix was bad enough, but now having to sit next to him for the next few hours with everyone staring at them like they were a circus side show was too much. If a hole opened up underneath her chair and swallowed her up, it might be a mercy from the goddess.

Thankfully, Sylvain didn’t leave her to wallow in misery for long.

“I can’t believe we haven’t told you guys the story of the skunks!” he announced.

Felix groaned, and his friend took that as encouragement to continue. Annette’s eyes widened listening to the retelling about some intelligence gathering mission that Lord Rodrigue had sent them on (although she noticed that Sylvain didn’t go into detail about what the mission had actually been about).

“… and that’s what led to the rescue of thirty three people, all with the power of stench,” Sylvain finished triumphantly. “Nothing like watching a bunch of dark mages run for their lives, am I right?”

“Hmph,” Felix snorted, arms crossed over his chest.

Annette studied him, wondering what exactly had happened, and feeling the oddest pang of something—was it jealousy?—because she hadn’t been there to help. Would things be different now if she had fled into the night with Felix three months ago?

“You have got to be joking,” Lysithea said from across the table. “Skunks as a weapon of warfare?”

“Yeah, you had me going there for a moment,” Caspar agreed from the other side of Hilda. “How would ya catch them without getting nailed?”

“For once, Sylvain is telling the truth,” Ingrid said from Sylvain’s left. “Let me assure you, catching them was _not_ fun. I had to bathe Windmaiden every day for a week.”

Everyone in earshot stared, surprised by her admission. Once more, Annette wondered what else had happened on the mission, and whether any of the three would say if asked point blank. Not that she had any intention of doing so—not here, anyway.

Ingrid’s words stirred Felix to break his silence.

“Try getting the smell out of your armor,” he said darkly. “That took _more_ than a week.”

“I wish my father had stayed away from me for longer than that,” Sylvain quipped.

Ingrid grinned. “Maybe we should get some skunk spray the next time bandits show up. Imagine how many repairs we’d avoid on our weapons at the blacksmith!”

“I told you, the power of stench reigns supreme!” Sylvain said. “It was my idea, after all.”

“Only you would be proud of something like that,” Ingrid said, shaking her head.

Hilda’s pink eyes sparkled, and she jumped into the fray.

“Forget bandits!” she said with a chuckle. “I say use it to ward off undesirable men.”

“Ooh, you should package it in a cute bottle with a fancy script,” Annette said, catching Hilda’s eye. “Eau de Skunk.”

Mercie giggled next to her, and Hilda and Lysithea burst out laughing. Annette glanced at Felix, but he ducked his head before she could make out his reaction. Ingrid leaned forward to meet Annette’s gaze down the table.

“Now _that_ I could get behind,” she said, shooting Sylvain a dark look.

“What did I do this time?” he asked innocently.

“Nothing. Yet.”

Conversation ceased when the Professor and Gilbert entered the room, their faces taciturn. Annette waited a beat to see if the prince was following, but there was no sign of him. As the titular head of the army, was he really going to avoid a tactics meeting?

She heard Felix make a noise of disgust, probably from reaching the same conclusion.

“Figures the boar wouldn’t show,” he grumbled.

It struck Annette how reversed the situation was—at the Academy, Felix had been the one most likely to skip a tactics meeting. Dimitri had always attended them like clockwork. The truth of what they faced—the Faerghus Dukedom and the Adrestian empire—with their ragtag band of misfits and soldiers was sobering. Everything came down to the Professor and her brilliant grasp of strategy. Annette felt better knowing Lysithea’s opinion of Byleth’s ability to pull it off, but wanted to see how the latter ran this meeting to restore her own resolve.

The Professor stood and announced the main points of the agenda: fully provisioning the monastery and preparing its defenses in case of attack. She had invited Seteth and several of the Knights of Seiros to join, and everyone present was offered the chance to share their ideas on defensive preparations.

Annette blanched at the idea of any of her thoughts getting shot down by her father, and stayed silent. However, when the discussion turned to laying a trap in the city using fire, a surprising source brought her into the limelight.

“If triggering the flames requires someone to manually set the trap, it sounds like front line fighters need to be prepared for the conditions,” Ferdinand said.

“Put the mages up front as part of the strategy,” Felix interjected before Gilbert or Byleth could respond. “They have higher resistance to magical sources of fire. Doesn’t it apply to the real thing?”

He turned to Annette directly, and everyone’s eyes landed on her.

“Um… the answer to that is yes and no,” she said, and launched into an explanation about how magical resistance protected mages and healers in general. “But I agree with your idea to have some of us up front. Our presence should tempt their armored units to proceed quickly, hoping to take us down. We can use that against them by trapping as many as possible in the flames.”

Felix gave her his half smile, and Annette felt the glow of that moment of approval more strongly than she ought. Especially when her father, of all people, nodded.

“A well thought out strategy, Lord Fraldarius and Annette. We will implement it into the battle plans.”

The Professor smiled, her pale green eyes lit with pride, and Annette suddenly felt like the last two weeks of doubts and misery were behind her. They really could do this, working together! She hadn’t realized how much her self belief fueled her personality until it got buried under a mountain of anxiety and fear.

Annette Fantine Dominic was a fighter, and never gave up until she was beaten. She shot a grateful smile to Lysithea, who’d knocked her out of her stasis, even if it wasn’t in the most gentle manner.

The discussion shifted to the particulars of setting the fire trap, and Annette once more lapsed into silence. As time passed, she became keenly aware of Felix’s presence beside her, even though she hadn’t interacted with him directly since he’d asked about fire resistance. Although her sneaked glances at his countenance told her little about his emotions from the reserved way he held himself, some part of her had learned to sense them from the energy he gave off. Where he’d been more open earlier, the longer the talks went on, the more stiff and withdrawn he became.

An hour later, Annette became increasingly aware of her stomach’s complaints that two rolls weren’t adequate sustenance. Ferdinand and Dorothea were debating the merits of riding out to larger cities to trade with merchants when Annette’s stomach rumbled. She crossed her arms over her abdomen and felt heat sweep over her cheeks, praying that no one heard it.

Felix shifted for the first time in a while, reaching into his tunic and pulling out a bundled handkerchief with the ends tied into a bow on top. He undid the knots, revealing a pile of dried fruit and nuts in a mixture that they’d often brought as rations on training excursions to battle bandits on weekends at the Academy. Annette gazed longingly at the food, and gaped when Felix slid the bounty in between them on the table.

“Eat something,” he said, pitching his voice low enough that only Annette could hear him.

Anxiety competed with hunger, and the combination led her to be honest. “I can’t take your food, aren’t you hungry?”

“I don’t need it all.”

He watched her with those bourbon colored eyes that seemed to pierce through her like a blade, for all that they were such a warm hue. Annette flushed from the intensity of his regard, and forced herself to smile.

“Thank you!” she whispered. “I’ll bring you something next time to make it up to you.”

Felix looked away, and his ears turned pink. “It’s fine.”

Annette waited a beat, but he didn’t move again, so she reached out and took a handful and gratefully chewed. For a guy who claimed to dislike seeing other people’s weaknesses, Felix’s gesture struck her as surprisingly thoughtful. She resolved to bake some rolls with Mercie before the next tactics meeting and save some for him.

While she ate, the voices of the others faded into the back of Annette’s mind, and she dared a longer look at Felix. He was watching the Professor mediate between Dorothea and Ferdinand, but his posture had altered to something less distant than before. She reached for another handful of food, and gazed thoughtfully at the swirling patterns of a knot in the wood tabletop near her unoccupied hand.

Was Lysithea correct about Felix—and her, for that matter? After two weeks of barely interacting with him, she recognized that she had been hiding from him on some level. Hiding, and half expecting him to show up in the greenhouse, where she spent most of her time working, and singing her silly songs. He never had, not once.

Had Felix been avoiding her, too? His behavior was so confusing on the whole, for all that he hadn’t actually said anything unkind to her. Really, it was what he _hadn’t_ said that was so galling. How could she explain the conflict of knowing so much about him—his mannerisms, body language, limited range of emotional expression—with the incongruity of his confusing behavior?

Damn it, Lysithea was probably right. Annette needed to talk to Felix alone, without the weight of everyone’s regard on them. Just to know if she’d concocted a whole relationship in her mind since seeing him in Fhirdiad. Not that she had the slightest clue how to broach the subject—fear usually meant her mouth ran off without her full consent, and revealed every wayward thought.

 _Hi Felix!_ _I know it’s been a few months, but I think I might be half in love with you, and I really hope you don’t hate me_ _because I was too stunned to kiss you back._ _M_ _y_ _afternoon_ _is free_ _if you’d like to try again_ _._

Oh yeah, that was going to go over well.

Desperate to think of something else before her thoughts showed on her face, Annette reached for another handful of food—and collided with Felix’s hand in the act of doing the same thing. Startled, she locked gazes with him. For a suspended moment, she felt the shock of the contact, the surprising warmth of his callused fingers against hers. Her cheeks felt like they sported crimson banners, and she retracted her hand half a second slower than Felix pulled his away.

“I’m sorry!” she hissed.

Felix’s face looked oddly flushed as well; did he find touching her so repellent?

“Just take it,” he mumbled.

“But...”

He shoved the food the rest of the way in front of her, and turned his back on her before she could protest further. Cheeks aflame, Annette felt the weight of someone’s regard, and stupidly looked up. Across the table, Hilda and Caspar hastily looked away, and Lysithea raised her eyebrows.

“I told you,” she mouthed.

Annette sank lower into her chair, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

* * *

25 Guardian Moon, 1186

It was a cold, sunny Saturday morning, the day before her father turned sixty-one, an occurrence Annette found herself as much at odds with as the current weather. After days of mixed rain and snow, did the anemic winter sunlight presage some kind of change on the horizon, the first hint of spring thaw between Gustave Dominic and herself? Or was it a rare coincidence, like the few times her father met her eyes or acknowledged her?

Even though the Professor had declared today a rare free day, Annette had found herself too antsy to join Mercedes to pray in the cathedral, and returned to her second home—the greenhouse—after breakfast ended. Perhaps the seedlings would tell her whether making some kind of gesture towards Father’s birthday was worthwhile? Either way, they needed watering.

She filled three metal watering cans from one of the barrels of rainwater they had set up for storage outside the glass structure, and returned to the warmth inside. Humming “Creepity creep” to herself, she worked her way along the raised beds, making sure the soil had just the right amount of moisture.

“Hey Annette, how would you like to cook with me?”

Startled, Annette nearly dropped the watering can. Schooling her face to hopefully not blush—please, not this time—she turned to face a smiling Ashe, her eyes on level with his throat. Goddess, she still hadn’t fully adjusted to his height—he’d gotten as tall as Felix.

“Good morning, Ashe!” she said, covering her surprise with a grin. “What a fun idea! Mercie is praying at the cathedral, should we go get her?”

“No,” he said, and Annette blinked.

“But she’s so much better than I am—”

“You see, I was hoping to get your advice on something while we’re cooking,” Ashe said, a dusting of pink tinting his freckled cheeks. “If you don’t mind?”

Huh. Apparently Annette wasn’t the only one with a conundrum to solve today. Helping Ashe sounded like the perfect way to avoid her own issues—especially with her curiosity piqued. People usually didn’t seek her out for advice when Mercedes was so much better at dispensing it.

“Of course not!” she said. “What time do you want to get started?”

“Is now okay? The cooks are prepping for lunch, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands chopping vegetables.”

“Sure,” she said, setting down the watering can. “I can finish this later.”

“Thank you so much! It’s easier to talk while my hands are busy,” Ashe said.

They left the comforting warmth of the greenhouse, and trekked the short distance around the fish pond and up the stairs into the dining hall. Two cooks were hard at work, with three other staff washing dishes in preparation for lunch. They happily welcomed the offer of help, and Annette and Ashe were quickly installed by a cutting board near the one of the wood stoves.

“It’s potato soup with dried leeks today, and a few of the carrots from your recent harvest,” the head cook said, smiling at them. “Peeling the carrots and potatoes and cutting them up would be a huge help!”

“We got this!” Annette said with more confidence than she felt; peeling was not one of her strengths, with her iffy fine motor skills.

She peeled off her gloves and stashed them on one of the shelves under the counter. Donning the apron Ashe handed her, they got to work. Even though it had been five years, he remembered that slippery potato flesh had not been her best friend, so he handed her a large peeler and the stack of carrots, which were easier to grip. Annette smiled, grateful, and prayed that she came out of the task without half of her knuckles skinned off.

They worked in silence to get their bearings, while the staff chattered around them, mainly about the dearth of spices and ingredients. Ashe made quick work of peeling and cutting the potatoes compared to Annette’s glacial pace with the carrots, and she was grateful he’d taken the harder task without calling attention to it. She’d picked up her fifth carrot when he broke the silence.

“I hope we’ll be able to get some sugar and other supplies in soon. The merchants are sorely missed in the marketplace right now.”

“I think we’d all die for a bag of sugar to liven things up,” Annette agreed, then wrinkled her nose. “Well, everyone except Felix.”

Ashe laughed, and she darted a look at him.

“So he still doesn’t like sweets?” he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Nope. Five years and some things are still the same.”

Ashe paused, and surprised Annette with his next words, and how perspicacious they were.

“I didn’t realize you saw him during the time we were all separated,” he said.

“I didn’t!” Annette cringed over the lie, and amended her words. “Well—only once. And there was a dessert buffet, so the subject kind of came up.”

“A dessert buffet?” Ashe’s green eyes clouded with confusion. “In Fraldarius territory with the war going on?”

Annette cursed her fair skin, knowing it was turning pink and unable to stop it. “Um… no. In Fhirdiad.”

Ashe looked like he wanted to question her further, but Annette wasn’t ready to talk about Felix or her confused feelings. She quickly changed the subject to his original topic.

“So, what did you want to ask me about? I really hope I can help!”

This time, Ashe was the one blushing.

“Well… I’m not sure how to say this. Um...”

He paused, clearly fumbling for words. For some reason, Annette began to fret. This couldn’t be about her and Felix, so perhaps it was about Ashe and… someone he cared for? But why choose her of all people to talk about that?

A thought struck her like a lightning bolt, and she mentally jumped out of its path. No. There was no way Ashe was interested in her. Her crush on him at the start of the Academy was long over, and he’d been oblivious then, too. Oh goddess, what would she say if he’d...

“Right, nothing to do but come out with it,” Ashe said, a resigned kind of determination in his tone. “Since we got back, I’ve spent my free time with someone who’s always been higher ranking than I am, but never cared about that when we’d go shopping in the marketplace. But now she’s… even more elevated, in her position and responsibilities. She keeps acting like we’re just the same as we were before, but I feel so self conscious.”

Oh, thank the goddess, he liked someone else! Annette was ashamed of the relief that flooded over her. Whomever it was would be one of the luckiest women in Fodlan, since Ashe was one of the best, kindest people she knew, hands down. Probably better than Felix, but her silly feelings didn’t seem to care about that.

A sudden shock of pain pulled her out of her thoughts; the peeler had grazed the top of her knuckle on her thumb.

“Damn, that hurts!” she burst out, and fidgeted when Ashe grabbed her hand to examine it, and handed her a clean rag at the same time to wrap around the abrasion. “No, I’m fine, it’s okay. Sorry.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry!” he protested. “It’s my fault for talking so much while you were trying to focus on your work.”

“Ashe! We’re here so I can listen to you and offer my best insights,” she said, placing her uninjured hand on her hip. “I’m the fool who wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile, and grabbed the abandoned carrots and started peeling, at three times the speed she’d done. “Why don’t I work while you talk, then.”

“Fair enough,” she nodded. “Okay, so are you asking me if I think it’s all right for you to be friends in the same way you were during the Academy? Or is this about being more than friends?”

Ashe’s blush answered what his silence didn’t elucidate.

“Well, she’s asked if we could have a tea together soon,” he said at length. “With the weather being so cold, she suggested her room, but… I’m worried that would be inappropriate. I mean she’s royal—”

He broke off and gazed forlornly at the pile of peeled vegetables. Annette realized whom he was talking about—Petra. Her eyes widened at the idea that Ashe was worried about something like status with Petra, when she’d never once acted like she cared about that sort of thing. Maybe the solution was just to focus on the tea, and leave the rest unspoken for a while.

“I think maybe you could invite her to sit in here during the late afternoon, while it’s empty like this,” she said cheerfully, giving Ashe a smile when his eyes met hers. “Or you could take tea together in the common room upstairs, where it’s more private.”

Ashe brightened. “Oh, that’s a thought.”

Heartened, Annette crossed the distance between them, and put a reassuring hand on his arm.

“Pe— I mean _she_ seems like the last person who would care about anyone’s background. She’s always been friendly to everyone equally.”

“I know, you’re right,” he sighed.

Annette squeezed his arm, and dropped the contact, but stayed close.

“She sought me out first, too,” Ashe continued. “I don’t know why it’s worrying me so much.”

“That’s okay! Maybe you just need time to get reacquainted. Tea time is the perfect occasion to catch up on how you both spent the last five years!” she said, giving him a fist pump of encouragement. “And Mercie and I would be glad to help you bake for it! I’m sure we could come up with something, even without sugar. Dried fruit can liven up some scones, right?”

“That’s a great idea! I would appreciate your help,” Ashe said, mirroring the fist pump. His enthusiasm made Annette grin. “Maybe I should invite her in a few days?”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Um… I guess I could,” he shuffled his feet and glanced down at the floor. “We both usually finish our chores around mid-afternoon.”

“Invite her!” Annette insisted. “Waiting longer means more days you’d have to spend being anxious, right?”

“Oh dear, I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure you’re right.”

Annette’s concentration was broken by an odd sound behind her, and she turned around to see Felix’s retreating back headed out of the dining hall. When had he even arrived? She stared after him, confused and torn by the strange desire to go after him, even though she had no idea what she wanted to say.

Ashe cleared his throat, and Annette whipped her gaze back to him, worried that every stupid feeling she had was written on her face.

“You know, if you ever need advice on anything at all, I’m here to listen,” Ashe said, kindness radiating from him like sunshine emerging from behind a dark cloud. “Especially about other people’s confusing behavior.” He cut his eyes in the direction that Felix had left in.

“Oh! Um, thank you,” Annette mumbled. “I doubt there’s much for me to tell.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Ashe said. “Weren’t you the one just discussing the value of getting reacquainted with old friends? A lot will happen before the war ends.”

“Yeah, I guess when you put it like that...” she sighed. “I don’t really know how to begin.”

“There’s no rush, whenever you’re ready to talk about things, I’m here,” he said, smiling in a way that his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I want to help however I can.”

Annette returned his smile. “I really appreciate it, thank you.”

She wasn’t ready to talk about Felix yet, not till she’d talked to him first, but her opportunities for that had been slim pickings since Monday. He’d left the tactics meeting so quickly, she still had his handkerchief that had contained the food. She’d washed it that evening, and had taken to carrying it around to give it back to him, but she so rarely saw him, there’d been no chance. Ugh, he really was avoiding her, wasn’t he? What was she going to do about it?

Ashe took the opportunity to finish peeling all of her abandoned carrots while she ruminated, and it struck Annette that she had the perfect subject Ashe could help her tackle—her father’s birthday, and what to do about it. Hopefully at least that had a better chance of getting resolved today.

“Hey, Ashe, I do have something I’d like your advice on.”

“Great! Lay it on me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Kaerra3)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix ties himself in knots of his own creation, in the present and also in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this update is so late—I ran into two zine check-ins, wrote a Felannie (2300+ word) “drabble”, updated my outline for this fic, and then wrote a 10,000 word Felannie one shot that wouldn’t leave my brain till it was finished. But I’m back, and the third flashback scene can finally have its day in the sun, after being booted from probably three different chapters now. Without the incomparable MadameHyde giving me an amazing beta, it probably would have taken even longer to get this finished—thank you so very much for your help!!! Thanks also to roxyryoko and Erica45 for your feedback, and to everyone on discord who gave their impressions on snippets of this long overdue chapter!

25 Guardian Moon, 1186

Felix had always expected dying to be a quick and easy process—the slash of a blade piercing his flesh, followed by a painful, rapid end. He’d prepared his whole life for that moment, postponing it each time he emerged victorious.

But walking into the dining room to the sight of Ashe’s gray head bent over Annette’s, confiding something while her upturned face radiated interest and regard, Felix realized that one could die by degrees. His heart leapt into his throat, limbs stiffened painfully, stomach roiled like he’d been punched. And goddess above, it hurt like nothing he’d ever experienced.

He’d turned around as quickly as his body recovered, and strode unseeing back the way he’d come, through the courtyard lined with benches, sheltered by tall hedgerows. All he heard was the roar of his pulse pounding in his ears, and a sensation of panic that wouldn’t quiet, wouldn’t oblige him by shutting the hell up and returning into the depths of his emotional treasury.

Thank the goddess Sylvain wasn’t there to see him, or House Gautier would be minus its scion. Even so, the man’s blasted words reverberated inside his skull.

_Where Ashe is looking isn’t your problem._

Felix begged to differ. But how could he compete for a spot in the hierarchy of Annette’s life right now, knowing they were on the edge of losing the war? What kind of world would be left for them if this attempt to band together under the mad prince failed?

_Pointless, all of it. Can’t fight to protect one person if there’s no homeland left to return to, no life worth living._

Why did that conviction taste so sour? When had his ability to cope with the shit life threw at him receded so badly?

Felix’s footsteps echoed down the hallway leading to the reception hall, and he wondered how he’d gotten there so quickly. He only now became aware of his exact destination. There was just one place he knew of that was likely to be deserted, except for one raving beast. And the boar, at least, barely counted as a person right now—and was the last one to try to pick apart his emotions.

How messed up was the state of the world—and his own mind—that Felix preferred the boar’s company over anyone else’s?

Ten minutes later, he was inside the cathedral, striding down the center of the cavernous space. The boar was alone, in his usual spot in front of a large pile of rubble blocking off access to the main altar. He whirled at the invasion, his one blue eye narrowed, fists clenched; then froze when he made eye contact with Felix.

“Go away,” he spat.

Felix walked to the left of the rubble pile and folded his arms. “Not here for you, boar. Deal with it.”

The prince stared at him for a long moment, then growled and turned away. Felix watched him silently, his body taut as if expecting a sneak attack, but Dimitri didn’t move.

The silence slowly morphed from tense to something else—not relaxed, given that Felix half-expected the boar to start shouting at the voices in his head—but not as uneasy. More like some kind of truce had been declared. Dimitri stared at his pile of rubble, head bowed, and Felix found a few shattered pieces of colored marble to focus on.

His mind wandered, cycling through every point of anxiety. First, from how things were going at the Fraldarius border without him there as a commander. Then to how long they had before the Empire sent scouting forces to Garreg Mach—or till they ran out of food, whichever came first. And lastly, to whether the Professor had the ability to pull off a greater miracle than sleeping for five years at the bottom of a cliff without seeming to age.

Inevitably, Felix found himself back on the original topic that drove him here: Annette. The bloody useless feelings she stirred up that he didn’t have time to feel, but refused to stay locked down in his treasury with everything else. Even now, her silly song lyrics danced in his head, “crumbs and yums” marching to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

_It’s Annette’s feelings that matter. Avoiding her won’t get you the girl,_ said mental Sylvain, resuming his assault from earlier. _Do you really want to risk dying without living a little first?_

Damn it all. Why did Sylvain have to be accurate about something regarding women for once in his life?

The emotions in the back of Felix’s mind clamored for attention, like a tug-of-war with one side favoring “Go drag Annette behind the dorms and kiss her senseless” and the other insisting “War comes first and distraction gets everyone killed.” 

Both sides held powerful arguments.

At the heart of the matter was a simple reality: did he know what he wanted from a relationship with her?

Felix swallowed, painfully aware that this question had dogged him since the Academy. When he’d figured out he even _had_ feelings for Annette on the night of the Garreg Mach Ball, he’d run from them, and never stopped. The idea of something _more_ filled him with panic, although an increasingly rebellious faction of himself was willing to risk the idea.

However, it begged the question of what Annette herself felt about him—or wanted from him. Felix wasn’t exactly the giving sort, unless it was dealing out death on the battlefield. Could he make someone else happy when he barely knew what the meaning was for himself?

Thinking about this made him crave something to fight—even the boar would do—but there was no escaping the ugly truths of his heart today.

He wanted Annette, but wasn’t willing to explore what having her would mean, or what it would change in both of their lives. Worse, he saw with shocking clarity that myopic training had become his pattern of avoiding other problems. It had gotten him this far in life, surviving the loss of Glenn, the loss of the man his father used to be, and even the boar’s slow descent into madness.

Without fighting, who even was Felix Hugo Fraldarius? 

How close was the precipice to losing his soul, and could he see its location in time to stop from falling into the chasm? He wanted to laugh at the irony that slapped him in the face now: how he was so much more like the boar than he’d thought; how closely he’d wandered down the same path. Were they both doomed to splinter apart from within—or die on the battlefield before the internal necrosis had completed?

The rubble didn’t provide an answer.

* * *

25 Ethereal Moon, 1180

Garreg Mach Monastery

Felix Hugo Fraldarius didn’t believe in love at first sight, or redemption arcs for villains, or any of the other fairytale tropes that littered the chivalric tales that Ashe and Ingrid wouldn’t shut up about. And he absolutely didn’t believe in dressing up in a starched uniform, hauling his agitated body into a stifling room crammed with over-excited people, and using his footwork for something as ridiculous as dancing.

Thus, he was determined to avoid the Ethereal Moon ball if it were the last thing he did. When the Professor had asked them all to at least put in an appearance for the sake of house unity, he’d scowled; when the boar and his classmates had rambled about a pointless reunion in five years, and on and on about dancing, he’d felt sick to his stomach. That feeling was magnified now that the night was finally upon him—all he wanted was to get as far away from the revelry as humanly possible.

Sylvain Gautier, however, had other ideas. Accosting Felix in his dorm room minutes before his escape to the training grounds seemed only the starting point. He had to nip it in the bud immediately.

“I said it last night, and I _meant_ it. I’d rather hold a sword than a girl’s hand in a dance.”

Felix turned his back on the redhead, and proceeded to gather up his gear. What had promised to be a wonderfully quiet evening was already off to a bad start, and he had no intention of letting it get worse.

“Yeah, we all heard you,” Sylvain said, slouching against the door frame like he owned the whole monastery. “Strange you’re in your dress Academy uniform if you’re not going.”

Felix glanced down at his outfit, feeling a wash of heat suffuse his face. Damn it, of course Sylvain had noticed that minor detail, and assumed the worst.

“If you must know, my regular uniform is getting washed.”

“Oh, were you the one that Annette crashed into with a plate full of iced cakes?” Sylvain threw back his head and laughed at Felix’s frozen look of horror. “She wouldn’t say who it was, only spoke of her utter humiliation throughout dinner. Kept going on about how much the mystery person must hate her now.”

Felix shrugged, not wanting to dwell on the subject of his collision with Annette. Whether Sylvain was fishing for information out of idleness or nefarious intent didn’t matter. Felix couldn’t allow a single look into his confused thoughts when it came to the dichotomy that was Annette Fantine Dominic, the one-woman-wrecking-machine, on and off the battlefield.

“That’s it, you’re going.” Sylvain’s change in tactics was so startling that Felix dropped his practice sword on the bed. “Annette will want to make it up to you, and she can’t do that if you’re not there.”

“I’m not a charity case!” Felix growled.

Against his will, his mind conjured an image of Annette looking up at him with a sweet smile while he spun her on the dance floor. No, no, no. That was not going to happen, because Felix Hugo Fraldarius Did Not Dance.

“Did I say that you were?” Sylvain asked mildly.

Sylvain was only saved from a gut punch by the appearance of their Professor, who had materialized in the doorway behind him. Felix at least had the satisfaction of seeing the older man nearly leap a foot in the air when he saw Byleth standing there.

“Professor,” Felix said shortly.

“Oh, Professor, surely you’re not going to miss the dance like our resident grump here?” Sylvain asked, laying on the voice he used to impress women.

She turned her wide, blue-eyed gaze on each of them in turn, the directness of it more unsettling than Felix liked to admit. He’d endured nearly eight months of that intense scrutiny, and it had only gotten mildly easier to bear.

“I’m headed there right now,” she said. “And I wanted to talk to you both about preparation for your exams on the way. You are attending for the sake of the Blue Lions House, are you not?” 

Even verbally, the woman was an impressive attacker, striking a blow he barely saw coming.

Felix felt his stomach curdle, and pointedly refused to look at Sylvain when he followed the Professor out of the room. Between the professor and Annette today, he felt more than a little off-kilter.

When they arrived in the reception hall, it was already stuffed to the rafters with students, faculty, and staff, and the dancing had begun in earnest. The tables that usually lined either side of the room had been repurposed into a long line against one wall for refreshments, and the chairs had been placed on the opposite wall for people to sit and converse. The food was mostly sweets, which was an instant no in Felix’s book.

The Professor was hailed by at least ten people, and she shot them a rare smile before waving them on.

“Try to enjoy yourselves,” she said, before joining the wildly beckoning Maneula, who already had a drink in hand. Felix hoped it was alcoholic.

“What do you say we go stake out a place over there?” Sylvain pointed to a less crowded area a third of the way down the wall from the exit that led to the classrooms. “It’s near the food.”

“Whatever,” Felix muttered.

They picked their way through the throng of people packed in between the refreshments table and the edge of the dance floor in the center of the room. There was very little maneuverability, which meant they were kept disrupting tightly knit groups on the way. Cramming the entire population of the monastery was asking for a disaster of epic proportions if something went wrong.

Sylvain chose a spot along the wall with a clear view of the dance floor. As usual, he leaned casually against the wall like the lord of the manor holding a glass of whiskey in his study. Felix stalked beside him and reclined against the cool stone, arms folded. 

“Since you’re here, you might as well take the plunge and actually dance with a girl,” Sylvain said, the conversational tone of his voice putting Felix on his guard.

“Hmph.”

The redhead ignored him, and listed all of the girls he saw whirling around the dance floor or walking past them.

“Dorothea is quite attractive, what about her?”

“What part of ‘hunting for a rich husband’ do you think I’d want any part of?”

Sylvain smirked. “A fair point. Although that’s usually the type of girl you should take out to dinner, since she won’t ever be more than a pretty face to admire across the table.”

“You have serious issues.”

“Right back atcha, buddy,” his friend retorted, undeterred. “Hmm, there’s Lysithea, but she seems more interested in her cake than dancing. Oh, the lovely Mercedes! I bet she’d be a good partner.”

Felix ignored him, hoping he’d take the hint, but as usual, Sylvain plowed onwards.

“Oh, there’s Annette! But you already rejected her, that’s right, silly of me to forget.”

Felix tensed up like someone had doused him with a bucket of freezing pond water. He spied Annette on the edge of the crowd of students watching all the couples dancing the last round of a gavotte, her face aglow while she gossiped with Hilda. Caspar detached from a bored looking Linhardt and came to a halt in front of them. He made a little bow and gestured to the dance floor, clearly intimating for a dance when the set ended. They were too far away for Felix to hear anything, but he found himself unable to look away.

Caspar briefly spoke with Hilda, grinned, and then turned to Annette, pointing at her foot. It struck Felix that Caspar was asking after Annette’s welfare, given that the smaller boy had carried Annette back from the field with a damaged ankle less than two weeks ago. Felix had been in a terrible mood the rest of that week, furious that Annette hadn’t been assigned near him for that particular mission. The training dummies had taken an extra beating until she’d stopped hobbling around. (Sylvain’s subsequent amusement had resulted in his replacing the dummies as Felix’s favored target.)

Annette gesticulated effusively, and made that endearing smile where she closed her eyes. Felix interpreted it to mean that she was assuring Caspar of her fitness to dance. The latter beamed, then turned his attention back to Hilda, and Felix found himself grinding his teeth.

“Marianne would be a lovely partner, if she’d ever stop looking like the sky is going to fall on top of her,” Sylvain rambled, and Felix snorted, hoping his friend would keep listening to the sound of his own voice. “Although I suppose she’s more cheerful than Ingrid in a rage...”

He tuned out Sylvain once more, and pretended not to watch Annette and Hilda laughing at something Caspar said. When the music ended moments later, the other couples streamed off the floor and either headed for refreshments or met up with new partners. Hilda took Caspar’s proffered hand and followed him into the grid of couples forming a new set, leaving Annette standing there alone. Felix felt his stomach unclench.

What the hell was wrong with him, that he inexplicably wanted to duel whomever approached Annette? It wasn’t like he enjoyed dancing—why should he begrudge her own enjoyment in the venture?

Moreover, why did he watch her when there was nothing to be gained from it? She wasn’t an opponent he regularly faced in the training grounds. Maybe it was her songs, which often played on repeat in his head when he least expected it, like upon waking? But the light-hearted tunes didn’t explain why Felix’s eyes often drifted Annette’s way, whether she was laughing, crashing into yet another hapless victim, or levitating in victory after blasting an opponent with magic. Even her moments of irritation were of interest—not that she’d yelled at him since their Death Knight hunt in Horsebow Moon.

“Poor Ashe looks lonely,” Sylvain said, interrupting Felix’s rumination. “After all those dancing lessons he got, he can’t even show them off to the girl he seems interested in.”

“What are you talking about? Annette is over there,” Felix heard himself say before he could stop himself. Once more, his eyes shot back to where she stood.

“You clearly don’t watch him around girls,” Sylvain drawled, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Not that he’s said anything, but I know she’s from a different House, and I don’t see her here. He freezes up every time he’s near her. Just like someone else I know.”

Felix tore his gaze away from Annette and stared pointedly at his feet, noting the even lines of the stone slabs lining the floor. The last thing he needed to do was hand Sylvain any fodder to make his life more miserable than it already was. He was making a break for it the instant his companion found his first waltz partner.

“Not dancing for once, Sylvain?” Dorothea asked, favoring the pair with an appraising look as she passed them on her way off the dance floor.

“That’s because I was waiting for the sight of you, my dearest Dorothea,” Sylvain said, putting his arms behind his back and grinning at her.

“Oh, Sylvie, you are beyond predictable, aren’t you?” She shook her head. “And Felix, what a surprise to see you here.”

He grunted in a noncommittal way. To his relief, Sylvain sped after her, offering to fetch her a refreshment or a dessert. Finally, Dorothea had done Felix a good turn.

Freedom, at last.

Felix removed his backside from the wall and straightened, stretching his arms tight against his body so he didn’t accidentally elbow someone. The reverberation of too many excited voices in the cavernous space and too many overheated bodies made him feel claustrophobic. The training grounds would be a haven once he found his way out of this glut of humanity.

Lowering his arms, he picked his way through the crowd, dodging Alois laughing heartily with some of the other Knights of Seiros—and nearly smacking Felix in the nose with his wild gesticulations while giving the punchline of his latest awful joke. Without fully intending it, Felix found himself wending towards where Annette had previously stood—and still remained. Only unlike earlier, her face was pinched with irritation, and her posture stiff and uncomfortable.

It was only a moment’s work to see why: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, the self-styled noblest of all nobles, stood in front of her, waving his hands in that grating manner that made Felix want to deck him just for posterity. His haughty vowels punctuated the air when Felix drew within a few feet of them, and the urge to punch the man resurfaced with a vengeance when he drew within earshot.

“Well, as a noblewoman, you must understand the importance of our positions, showing the common folk how true elegance appears on the dance floor. That is why you simply must indulge me with a waltz. I believe it is to make up the next set, and the Prince of Faerghus and the heir to the Adrestian Empire are sure to take part. What do you say, my dear lady?”

“Erm, that’s lovely for you to think of me, Lorenz, but I’m…” Annette twisted her hands nervously. “...well, my foot is still injured, you see, so I’m not dancing much today.”

“Oh my! Well, we can certainly take the turns much slower than I would have done otherwise. I am certain I saw you in the arms of some other classmates at various points of the evening, so I assume your foot held up for the occasion? I assure you that I am never the kind of dancer who steps on a lady’s toes.”

“You’re very kind to think of me, but I feel I’d rather not take the risk.”

“That pains me terribly to hear you decline when I could offer you the finest example of—”

Felix couldn’t take it any more. He stormed over to the pair, fists clenched at his sides.

“Can’t you see she’s not interested?”

Annette gaped at him, her blue eyes blown wide. Her surprise quickly evolved into a look Felix had seen a few times during missions, when she was about to take a calculated risk.

“Now see here, Fraldarius, a noble does not intrude on another person’s conversation—”

“Oh, Felix, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I forgot!” Annette cut him off, laughing behind her hand in a way Felix had never seen her do before. “Sorry Lorenz, it completely slipped my mind, but I already promised this waltz to Felix. I’ll see you another time, okay?”

Before Felix had time to stare at her slack-jawed, Annette grabbed his hand and dragged him away. Her fingers were shockingly warm against his, and his sheer astonishment from the boldness of her gambit made his mind pitch into freefall. Docile like an old mare, he let her lead him around the perimeter of students waiting to start the waltz when the current gavotte ended.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to drag you into a dance you don’t want.” Annette flashed him a chagrined look over her shoulder. “But I really do appreciate your help back there. It’s not like I’m the kind of girl who rejects people out of hand—that would require being pretty and popular. But I really don’t feel comfortable around Lorenz.”

Felix’s tongue had glued itself to his mouth, and it took a moment to loosen. 

“He’s an idiot,” was all he managed.

Annette laughed musically, and his heart took a nosedive into his stomach. She brought them to a halt, her hand still in his, and glanced upwards to smile at him. This close to her and without the grime of battle or the sweat and fatigue of training, he could pick out individual freckles that dotted her cheeks in a charming constellation. Especially against the porcelain tone of her clear, even skin— 

No, no, he was _not_ thinking about that, damn it.

His silent regard must have made Annette feel self conscious, for a tinge of pink washed over her cheeks and she dropped his hand like it had sprouted thorns. She paused to suck down a breath and started chattering. 

“I’m so sorry about earlier today, when I crashed into you. I felt so terrible, and with that and how much I know you hate dancing, well...” She bit her lip, then rallied. “I’m surprised to even see you here. I thought you’d be training.”

Felix’s supply of words seemed to have died the moment Annette willingly touched him. He shrugged and managed to get out one.

“Sylvain.”

“Right.” She nodded vehemently.

The music faded around them, and the dancers on the floor vacated their positions, while those couples that had paired up for the waltz filed in to take empty spots in the forming grid. For a prolonged moment, Felix stared into Annette’s blue eyes, noting she had spots of gray within the iris, nearest the pupil, stunned by how content he was to keep peering into them. Something in his brain kicked into gear, and his higher functioning returned enough to realize that this was an opportunity he’d probably kick himself for all year if he didn’t take it. He wondered if his face, like hers, betrayed a particular expression whenever he decided to risk everything.

He held out his hand to her. “We might as well make your excuse valid.”

Annette’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red, and Felix felt his own face flush in response. Then she reached out and took his hand, and flashed him a determined smile that made the gray spots in her eyes retract, so only blue reflected back at him.

“I haven’t waltzed in a while. I hope that’s okay?”

“I’m not exactly great at it, either,” he muttered.

Leading her onto the dance floor, he found a spot that wasn’t occupied with overly excited couples. Annette giggled and dropped into a quick curtsy, and he belatedly remembered to bow. Then he assumed the proper form for the waltz, taking her right hand in his left and holding it aloft, and placing his other hand on her back, leaving their bodies inches apart—the closest he’d ever stood to her without having an opponent to face.

It wasn’t the most complex of dances, mostly involving a series of timed steps in unison with one’s partner, and rotating ninety degrees at the end of each set of steps. He’d done more complicated footwork just this morning practicing sword forms, but this scenario felt more fraught than facing an opponent’s raised weapon. His heart was practically thundering when the music started up.

He began to lead, frowning slightly in concentration while his body reacquainted itself with the motions. For the first set of steps, neither he or Annette looked at each other, too focused on their feet, and on finding a rhythm. Once he figured out to slow down half a second between each step to match her pace, things clicked between them.

“Wow, you actually know your way around a waltz,” Annette said, and laughed awkwardly. “I didn’t know you danced.”

Felix kept his gaze averted; her wide eyes seemed to have the power to swallow his vocabulary.

“I’ve had lessons since I was five,” he said. “My father wanted me to master all battlefields.”

She chuckled at that, and he found his attention once more locked on her face. “All of these social expectations are like a battle, aren’t they? I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”

He watched her, waiting for her to say something else, but his word-eating affliction appeared to have spread to Annette. She gazed back, cheeks reddening, and this time she looked away first.

For once, he had the luxury of studying her up close without having to make an excuse, and he took full advantage, noting the soft texture and slight curl to her hair, still twisted in its normal loops on either side of her jaw. He liked her height—or lack thereof—despite the odd feeling of towering over someone. Something about Annette’s diminutive size coupled with her larger than life personality compelled his attention.

His bewildering thoughts nearly caused him to trod on her toes. Felix refocused on the dance steps, which came back to him more fluidly than he’d expected. He could almost hear his father’s approval in his head as he led Annette gracefully through the rotations. 

_There now, Felix, see how it’s no different than cutting practice, where you’d link the actions of the blade to the movement of the feet,_ beamed Lord Rodrigue in his mind’s eye, the last time he’d inflicted waltzing lessons on Felix. _Only instead of a sword in your arms, you have a woman._

At the time, thirteen year old Felix had grumbled that was the whole problem. Four years later, he wasn’t so certain.

“You’re a lot better at this than I am,” Annette said suddenly, her brow slightly furrowed from concentration.

“You’re fine. It’s not like there’s a certification exam to pass.”

Annette blanched at the thought, and Felix internally kicked himself for sounding like an ass. 

Seconds ticked by in awkward silence, both of their gazes trained away from each other. Felix felt like the room spun around him, but his mind failed to process anything in sight. All of his senses were limited to the feel of Annette’s small hand in his and the warmth of her back beneath his other hand. 

Annette tensed, and he glanced down to see her gaze fastened to her left. He followed the direction of her eyes—noting that the boar and the Adrestian heir were dancing back to back, seemingly unaware—and landed on the source of Annette’s interest: Claude von Riegan dragging their professor onto the dance floor.

The Professor looked more awkward than Felix had ever seen her, befuddled by the correct posture of the waltz. Claude had to position her and demonstrate the steps before leading her into them, very, very slowly. Felix huffed in amusement from watching the heir of the Leicester Alliance teaching the Ashen Demon the waltz as though the woman was five.

“Good to know the Professor is a novice at something,” he said, and was surprised when Annette grinned in response.

“That makes me feel so much better, honestly,” she said. “She does everything well. Fighting, teaching, cooking, fishing, making tea…”

He smirked. “I guess Jeralt didn’t get around to teaching her the waltz.”

“Jeralt seems as interested in dancing as Professor Manuela is in crestology,” Annette quipped, and Felix heard himself make a noise that sounded like a snicker. “Not that I know much about him, but I doubt he’d be here tonight even if he weren’t on a mission.”

Their eyes met—Annette’s crinkled with amusement—and the mood between them shifted discernibly. Felix felt himself relaxing into the steps, felt Annette do the same, and realized with a jolt that dancing wasn’t that terrible after all, with the right person. He honestly wouldn’t mind keeping this up for half the night, as long as she looked back at him with that contented expression on her face.

His good mood nearly shattered when Annette almost bumped into someone. It turned out to be Dorothea, in the arms of none other than Sylvain. Annette stammered an apology, and relaxed under Dorothea’s quick assurance that all was well. Then Felix made the mistake of looking at his childhood friend.

Sylvain made an over-the-top shocked expression, and mouthed the words, “I’m so proud.”

Felix glowered, and immediately moved in the opposite direction. That idiot was going to find himself flat on his back in the training grounds tomorrow. Or maybe soaking wet from being tossed into the fish pond—whichever opportunity came first.

When he returned his attention to Annette, she looked a bit uncertain, probably from having witnessed his exchange with Sylvain, damn him. She gave him a cheerful smile and started talking in that rambling manner he recognized as a sign of nervousness.

“I wish I was as good as the Professor is at managing people. She gets Sylvain to stop flirting in class, which is practically magical in itself, and I don’t know how she does it. She never has to raise her voice, and we all listen.”

Yup, Sylvain José Gauiter was a dead man.

“Her mercenary background taught her how to quickly read people," he said. "That’s how she keeps the boar and Sylvain in line.”

Annette looked stunned. “Dimitri, really?”

Felix felt bile rise to his throat over his former friend’s ability to hide his illness so well from the others. But her next words made him reconsider his reaction.

“I mean, he’s not a flirt at all,” she mused. “What is the Professor keeping him from doing?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The words were automatic, but it was the first time Felix could remember feeling conflicted about them. A vocal minority in his mind was clamoring for him to tell Annette the truth about what the Tragedy of Duscur had done to his former friend, but the majority didn’t want to ruin the ball with such a depressing subject. 

“Sorry, I guess it’s not my business.” Annette sounded chagrined, and he felt like a criminal.

“I’ll tell you some other time if you really want to know,” Felix said, before he could think better of it. “This isn’t the place for that kind of ugliness.”

Annette tilted her head, her blue eyes lit with a mixture of relief and understanding.

“You’re right. After the horrors of Remire, this ball feels festive,” she said, then scrunched up her nose in thought. “But kind of wrong at the same time. It feels like we’re dancing around something important. And seriously bad.”

Felix leaned in and lowered his voice. “This is far from over, I agree. Not that anyone else seems to have noticed.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “Solon is still out there. And the Death Knight.”

The music ceased with a flourish, as if accenting the disparity of their words with the gaiety around them. For all that Duscur had gone unspoken, the real world had intruded all the same. For some inexplicable reason, it bothered Felix that their last exchange had stolen the joy from Annette’s face. He felt driven to do something to put it back, and settled on a plan while leading her off the dance floor, threading through the stampede of other couples coming on (including a flushed Lorenz battling Leonie over which one of them was supposed to lead).

Once safely out of range, Felix released Annette’s hand and nodded towards the array of desserts and bowls of sweetened punch on the tables lining the wall.

“Tell me what you want from the refreshments table,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve got more dances lined up.”

“Oh… that’s so nice of you!” Annette’s eyes lit up, then dimmed. “But, um, you really don’t need to do that, I know you hate sweets. I can get them myself. I was planning on it anyway; they have at least six kinds of cake!”

She giggled at his stupefaction—that much dessert at once, good goddess—then pumped her fist. “I will probably be up all night from all of that sugar, but it’s worth it!”

He smiled faintly, unable to understand her love for all things sweet, but unwittingly charmed by her enthusiasm for it. The seconds passed, and his mind offered no further vocabulary. He needed to get out of here, but he felt rooted to the spot by the brightness of her smile.

“Um… thanks for the dance,” Annette said, and a tinge of pink overlaid her cheeks again. “I had fun.”

Felix’s ears felt like they were suddenly on fire, and he looked away. “Sure.”

“I’ll see you… um...”

He was clearly a glutton for punishment, or else his eyes had become a lodestone and Annette’s face was true North. She looked cutely embarrassed when her gaze met his.

“I’ll be in the training grounds,” he heard himself say. “Unless you’re planning on another Death Knight hunt with the leftovers.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “Not even all of the sugar in Fódlan could convince me to look for him again!”

That faint smile crept over Felix’s face again, without preamble—Annette’s look of indignation was ridiculously appealing. But this was getting beyond awkward, standing here with half of his mind’s executive functioning missing, staring at her like she was a shiny new sword that cost far more than he could ever afford. Annette looked back at him like she had something else she wanted to say, but kept deciding against it. He had training to do, she had disgusting sweet things to eat, and this whole stalemate of inaction defied all reason. 

Yet, he found himself helpless to break it.

Then a voice called his name in the crowd and cut through the roar in his head—Sylvain, sounding more smug than he had in months. Panic kicked in and restored Felix’s internal workings.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” he said hurriedly.

Annette blinked, then turned and saw the approaching invader. “Oh! Right. I mean, that cake is calling my name! Bye, Felix!”

She scurried away, and Felix turned and bolted out of the Reception Hall, ignoring Sylvain’s raised voice behind him. Training would settle him down, and he desperately needed it—needed to separate from whatever feelings had leaked out of his mental treasury and stalled his ability to think straight. Feelings that even now threatened to overwhelm him, demanding something that made no sense: more time with Annette. Just… listening to her. Watching her. For no reason at all.

What in the goddess’s green fields was wrong with him? He knew exactly what Sylvain would say, and it couldn’t be correct. His fascination with Annette—which, he had to admit, had reached that level—was nothing more than that. 

Nothing. More.

Felix escaped the stifling heat of the crowded Hall and breathed in relief when the cold winter air entered his lungs in the long narrow stone hallway. This was the fastest route to the training grounds, and he picked up his pace. They were sure to be empty; he’d seen Shamir grumpily trying to ignore Catherine and Alois’ antics on the way out. She was the only other person he could think of who’d have gladly been somewhere else other than the ball (except for the lucky Captain Jeralt, who was far, far away on mission).

Unfortunately, Sylvain’s long legs were an asset Felix hadn’t counted on.

“Felix, hold up!” the older man shouted behind him, his voice winded.

_Goddessdamn it._

Not bothering to hide his aggravation, Felix rounded on his friend, who would quickly find himself the recipient of a punch to the gut if he didn’t get gone in the next minute.

“What do you want?” he demanded. 

“Seriously? I’m here to congratulate you, man!” Sylvain spoke between heaving breaths. “I can’t believe you asked Annette to dance.”

“I didn’t,” Felix ground out, pinning his friend with a blistering glare.

That shut him up. For two seconds.

“You let her ask you?” Sylvain asked, wide-eyed. “Oh Felix… your education with girls requires serious remedial training. But on the bright side, she must actually like you!”

And like that, Felix was blazing hot, torn between horror and something else he was not going to examine.

“Shut up! It wasn’t like that!” 

Lowering his voice, he added, “She needed to get away from a jackass demanding a dance with her, and I was nearby. It happened, and now it’s done. Go back to your harem.”

Contrary to his expectations, Sylvain’s expression shifted from teasing to appraising.

“I guess that whole situation wore poor Annette out; she didn’t even say hi to me when I passed her. Pity, I’d planned to ask her for a dance.”

Felix couldn’t prevent the rigid set of his jaw from showing. “I already rescued her from unwanted attentions and I don’t have time to do it again. Let her eat her cake in peace.”

Satisfied with having the last word for once, he turned and stalked away. This time, Sylvain didn’t try to follow. However, his laugh felt like an assault.

Face burning, Felix stomped the rest of the way to the training grounds, picturing Sylvain’s smug visage beneath his feet, taking repeated blows. This was a nightmare beyond all imagining—battling feelings he never asked for, in the middle of whatever tempest was brewing from the forces behind the death and trauma at Remire Village. It was more than Felix knew how to handle, so he had to master it. Beat the feelings into submission, like an opponent on the battlefield. He wasn’t here for some kind of pointless fascination with a young woman—he wasn’t Sylvain.

All that mattered was being the strongest. The one who survived. There was nothing to be gained from yearning for something he couldn’t have, and wasn’t fully sure he wanted.

If only he could convince his heart to fully accept the truth again, everything would be fine.

* * *

More than five years later, Felix knew better. Nothing was fine, and he wasn’t sure it ever would be again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Kaerra3)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Annette make the same request of Byleth, and fail at basic conversation skills. Felix and Ashe level up. Annette’s first training session leads to new resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses to offer for how long it took to get this chapter finished, or to respond to so many lovely comments that have been left on this fic and others. Real Life has been in a very bad mood for most of this fall, and manages to be both interminable and to move far more quickly than I believed possible. Like my new long fic’s most recent chapter, this one also got split in half, so fingers crossed that Those Who Rule Real Life have pity on me so I can finish the new chapter 11 fast and post before the year ends. I have story I want to tell, Real Life! 
> 
> For anyone still here and following this story after four months, THANK YOU. I hugely appreciate every single one of you. I hope this chapter signals the resumption of semi-regular updates. I made the Felannie interactions extra long just for you. ^_^

26 Guardian Moon, 1186

On the day of Glenn’s funeral, Felix had committed to the warrior’s path to fulfill what his brother could not: to live and breathe battle, to make his sword an extension of his will. To always be the last one standing.

And to a large extent, he’d succeeded. He was nearly twenty-three, a five year veteran in a war unlike any he’d ever expected to fight. And he was still standing.

But when it came to the contents of his heart, his skills were useless; like trying to cut the air with his blade. All of that training, that force of willpower, undone by memories of a smile, a casual touch, the notes of a silly tune that wouldn’t exit his mind.

All of it threatened by Annette Fantine Dominic.

After his wretched epiphany in the glowering presence of the boar, Felix had awakened the next morning with an odd sense of resignation. His feelings could not be conquered. They could not be locked away.

But perhaps, they could be redirected.

If the Professor was willing to agree to his plans.

To that end, Felix had sought her out, spending a full twenty minutes prowling the various halls of the monastery. Venturing outside into the anemic mid-morning winter sunlight, he finally found Byleth at the gazebo, setting up for tea.

“Professor, do you have a moment?”

She looked up from the muslin bag of tea leaves she’d opened beside a metal jug of steaming water, and the simple stoneware tea pot he’d seen her use multiple times with him and other former students. He caught a whiff of almonds, and wondered whom she was treating for tea who wouldn’t be freezing outside.

“Of course, Felix. What can I do for you?” she answered, her bright green eyes watching him steadily.

Time to commit to his new resolution.

“I have a request for when we fight the Empire,” he said. “I want to be near the front line mages for the fire trap. Specifically Annette.”

“What are your concerns about her?” It felt like Byleth saw right through him with that piercing gaze.

He’d rehearsed his list of justifications while getting dressed this morning. But all he could think about was how Annette reminded him of a songbird, its snatches of melody captivating all who heard it. Songbirds were ethereal, fleeting, harder to catch than fireflies. If one was captured and caged, it would languish. It needed protection in its home environment—and that he could do.

That was the only solution that made sense: protecting Annette on the battlefield, to give her another chance to keep singing. It could placate his heart enough that he could focus on what had to be done for them all to survive, to stop dwelling on.. whatever the hell it was doing. He had only to convince the Professor to see the tactical reasoning behind his request; no one would ever know the truth.

Finding his voice, he launched into his practical explanation.

“There’s nothing wrong with Annette’s abilities. But there will be opponents targeting the mages who are faster than armoured units, and able to get close in.”

Byleth’s gaze was unblinking, face blank. Felix did his best to ignore it.

“As a sword master, I’m a better unit to take on those in the same battle class. I want Annette up front, but I don’t believe in risking them unnecessarily.”

The Professor was silent. Her normal practice was to make them wait for an answer while she parsed through every detail, and that was fine. It was standard procedure. Expected.

What she said next, however, was far from expected.

“Annette spoke to me earlier on the same subject,” she said. “She requested to be paired up with you before the trap is executed.”

“She did?” he asked, flabbergasted. “Why?”

“I believe her reasons were along the lines of having someone with Faith magic up front while acting as bait, like discussed in the council. She seems to think that you will potentially be in need of that, to free up Mercedes and Marianne for everyone else.”

Felix had no idea what his face looked like, but whatever it was, the Professor clearly found it objectionable. She gave him another flat stare, then broke it with a huffed sigh and a little shake of her head.

“I’m granting your request. But the pair of you must have a conversation. We all need to be on the same page.”

Relief warred with embarrassment and irritation, but Felix shoved it all into his emotional treasury and slammed the door.

“Thank you,” he said, curtly bobbing his head. “We will.”

A sudden movement behind the Professor caught Felix’s eye, a flash of orange, blue, and ivory. As though she’d been summoned by their discussion, Annette came into view, carrying what looked like a basket of baked goods. Goddess save him, he’d just literally escaped her overhearing them.

“Professor, I’m glad I caught you before—oh… hi Felix,” Annette greeted them.

Felix gave her a brusque nod, and looked at Byleth, who responded more warmly—which was more than telling. An awkward silence fell, and Felix darted his gaze between Annette and the Professor, waiting for the latter to mention the battle assignments, but she said nothing.

Annette nervously giggled, and clutched the handle of the basket. “Say, Professor, have you seen my… um, Gilbert?”

“I’m going to have tea with him,” she replied. “He should be here any minute.”

“Oh, great!” Annette smiled, and thrust the basket forward like an offering. “Would you mind giving him some of these scones for his birthday? Mercie and I were baking this morning. They’re not very sweet, but they’re still pretty tasty.”

“Of course! How very kind of you,” Byleth said, and made a rare smile.

Annette grinned, and the two women got to work rearranging the table. Felix watched Annette on that pretense, wondering why she’d bothered to make an effort for a father that still refused to acknowledge her as his daughter publicly.

“These look delicious, thank you!” the Professor said, a rare note of pleasure in her voice. “How did you know it was Gilbert’s birthday?”

“Oh, um...”

Annette’s face fell, and Felix felt a hollow part in his chest that reminded him too much of his own strained relationship with his father—another set of pointless emotions that should stay locked away forever. His thoughts must have bled onto his face, for Annette’s stormy blue eyes met his and held. She gave him a look of momentary panic before recovering her customary cheerfulness.

“It’s a long story,” she said. “Uh, would you mind letting him know we baked these for him and wish him a happy birthday?”

“Of course.”

Turning to Felix, Byleth asked, “Is that all you needed from me? I’m available later to discuss further concerns about our defensive strategy.”

He shook his head, relieved that she’d left it up to him and Annette to discuss their strategies without a facilitator. “That was all, thank you.”

He closed his mouth before he voiced the sarcasm lingering at the tip of his tongue. As much as Gilbert pissed him off, Annette’s stiff demeanor was powerful enough he was amazed the Professor hadn’t figured out the situation. Much as he’d love to punch the man in the face, now wasn’t the time or place.

“Look, there’s Gilbert now,” the Professor said, turning her head in the direction of the Knights Hall. “You can tell him happy birthday in person!”

“Oh, I can’t, I—” Annette blanched, her face going white.

Before he fully recognized what he was doing, Felix skirted around the table, and found himself grasping Annette’s arm. “We have strategy to discuss, as you said, Professor. Better get started.”

“T- that’s right! Strategy!” Annette nodded vigorously. “Bye, Professor!”

* * *

Felix took off in the direction of the Entrance Hall, the opposite direction Gilbert advanced from. Somehow Annette managed to keep up, despite her short stride. Glancing down at her, he spied the means—she’d pulled the form-fitting gown up to knee height, exposing ivory stockings covering slim ankles and calves. Several seconds passed before he realized what he was doing: staring at her like some kind of… skirt chaser. Good goddess, he was no better than Sylvain.

Wrenching his gaze straight ahead, he released his grip on her arm and quickened his pace. Gulping a breath of chilly air like a drowning man finding air, Felix held it a moment, counting silently in his head in a grounding technique he used before every battle. But the sense of heightened awareness only increased. He knew exactly how far behind him Annette was—his body was attuned to her on a level he’d never asked for.

She wasn’t the kind of opponent Felix knew how to face. The weapons she brandished were indefensible with steel and speed: the sound of her voice, the warmth of her smile, and the lightly fruity scent of her hair.

After five years of fighting, Felix Hugo Fraldarius found himself disarmed by the rebellion of his own five senses, with no clue how to fight back.

It was almost a relief when Annette broke the silence.

“Thanks for helping me get out of there so fast,” she said.

He glanced back at her and slowed his pace, allowing her to catch up. Normal conversation was good, he could do that. This was safe territory.

“It was clear the Professor doesn’t know about your father,” he said. “Are you going to tell her?”

Annette pulled up alongside him, her cheeks slightly pink from the chilly air and exertion.

“Probably,” she said. “I don’t know. He’s not exactly been… welcoming.”

“Gustave at least recognized your ideas for strategy,” Felix said. “They changed the direction of the defense.”

Did he imagine her cheeks looked pinker? Or was it merely a trick of the light?

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for backing me up in council!” Annette gave him the smile he especially liked, where her eyes nearly squinted shut. “It was a really good strategy we all developed from there.”

“Do you have something in mind for luring in the heavy armour units without getting hit?”

Annette nodded, and nearly plowed into a harried bishop hurrying towards the Reception Hall, which was directly to the right. Felix grabbed her arm in time to prevent disaster, and maneuvered them around the flustered woman.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Annette cried.

Felix firmly held on to her upper arm and kept walking, towards the next set of garden rooms defined by tall boxwood hedges. If he allowed Annette to default to making a hundred apologies, they’d never get through this conversation.

After a few seconds, her pace stopped lagging and matched his, and he let go of her. He breathed in deeply, and a whiff of her combined scents—fruit and spice, almost like cinnamon and clove—clung to his nostrils. Goddessdamn his rebellious senses!

“The Professor wants us to partner up on the front lines for the next battle,” he said more harshly than he’d intended.

“Oh?” Annette’s voice held an odd note. “She must have liked the strategy a lot then.”

Her evasiveness was uncharacteristic, and he turned his head to study her. Was she embarrassed she’d asked to pair up with him? War was a matter of life or death, and he saw no reason to beat around the bush.

“She said you talked to her earlier about working together.”

Annette definitely blushed this time, and she steadfastly kept her eyes focused on the path they walked.

“Are you annoyed about having to fight with me in battle?” she asked.

Felix halted, and so did she. A couple of knights headed towards them on the same path carefully skirted around them.

“Why would that annoy me?” he asked, flummoxed. “We’ve fought together many times.”

“In the past, sure,” she said, finally looking up at him, although her gaze was indecipherable. “It’s been a long time since then.”

“It was the same at the reunion.”

At least till the end, when his heart went on complete revolt. The way the damn thing was pounding in his chest right now, half the monastery could probably hear it.

“Wait a minute!” Annette’s expression shifted. “The Professor said you came to her. Why were you there?”

This time he was the one who looked away.

“Tactics,” he mumbled. Heat climbed up his neck and burned the tips of his ears.

“I must be crazy, but I’m going to ask anyway: did you go to request that we fight together?” Annette asked sharply.

Felix’s brain failed to supply him with an answer, so he let the silence speak for him.

“You did? Seriously?”

“You’re a better spellcaster now, but enemy sword masters move a lot faster than armored units,” he spat out. “You don’t have a lot of defense against them.”

He forced himself to face her, unsurprised that she looked mildly insulted. Annette opened her mouth to argue, then shut it, her gaze turning inward, assessing. Time to take the offensive.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted the same thing?” he asked. “The Professor said you talked to her first. You could have spoken with me before.”

“Oh really?” Annette’s eyes flashed. “And where have you been keeping yourself these days, Felix?”

“At the training grounds. You know that.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s strange, I never saw you there the few times I went to practice with Ashe.”

That was because he’d deliberately avoided being there whenever they were—unable to stomach seeing them working together so companionably. But he would never admit that, not under threat of death. Folding his own arms in the same posture, he parried the attack.

“I’m usually there at night.”

“I just thought you didn’t want to talk to anyone.” Annette’s pout was an unexpected assault. “You’ve been completely antisocial, worse than the Academy.”

“And you have been in comparison?” he countered. “Never leaving the greenhouse?”

The glare that followed at least was familiar territory.

“How would you know that if you were only in the training grounds?”

The air around them felt charged, and Felix staggered for something to say, feeling like he stood on the edge of a precipice. What did she want him to say? For that matter, what did he want from her? His brain was mush.

His salvation came from the worst possible source.

“Annette, there you are!” Ashe’s voice called out, and both of them turned in unison. “I have some extra scones for you!”

He hurried down the path, a basket covered with a handkerchief in one hand. His eyes darted from Annette’s face to Felix’s, and he blanched, slowing to a stop a few feet away.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s always wonderful to see you, Ashe!” Annette said loudly, her attempt at cheerfulness almost satirical.

Ashe shot Felix a questioning look, then crossed the remaining space to join them. Annette flashed him a warm smile that Felix found chilled his bones.

“I already left the others with the Professor,” she said. “These are yours!”

“Would either of you like one?” Ashe held the basket out in offering. “They’re not sweet, but the spices and dried cranberries add a nice earthy tartness.”

Annette lifted the handkerchief. “Why don’t I take a couple more for Mercie and I. Then we’ll see you at 2:30 to help you set up for your tea.”

She shot Felix an indecipherable look from under her lashes. “You might as well eat one, we have no sugar. Mercie did most of the work.”

Felix blinked, trying to decipher her expression, but it felt like the most complex Reason calculation he’d ever seen. He shrugged and accepted one of the perfectly baked pastries Ashe handed him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and took a bite.

The scone had a dense texture, with a hint of earthy spice and some kind of dried berries with a strong hit of flavor. No wonder Annette had smelled of cinnamon and clove. But he was not going to let himself think about that in front of an audience. Turning to Ashe, Felix changed the subject.

“You’re having tea, too? Special occasion?”

Surprisingly, Ashe blushed. “Oh, nothing special. Just catching up with a friend.”

“A very _good_ friend,” Annette pronounced with deliberate emphasis.

“Right.” Ashe’s pale skin turned a dull red.

Felix stared, not comprehending. Ashe was interested in Annette… wasn’t he? He’d seen the way they’d leaned towards each other in the dining hall’s kitchen the other day. If that closeness didn’t reflect gooey feelings, what the hell did it actually mean?

“Speaking of good friends, I don’t want to leave Mercie to do all of the cleaning up, so I’d better run,” Annette said. “Maybe I’ll see you in the training grounds this evening, Felix?”

The question was phrased in an offhand way, but the look she sent him was laden with significance, along the lines of “Show up or else.”

“I’ll be there.” Felix nodded curtly. “Probably ought to work on your ax skills in case they’re needed.”

She made a face, but Ashe startled them with his enthusiastic agreement.

“That’s a great idea! A lot of us have gotten out of practice with our back-up weapons, and we might not get a choice if we’re facing waves of the Imperial Army defending the monastery. I’d love to join you for training, if you’re willing to help me improve.”

Annette gaped, and Felix paused, not wanting to set her off any further than he already had. However, Ashe’s point was too important to overlook—everyone needed to be prepared for whatever the Empire threw at them.

“We can get everyone together and drill our secondary weapons,” he offered. “Work with people who know them better to improve everyone’s base knowledge.”

“Great!” Annette said with a level of cheerfulness that Felix found suspect. “Then I will definitely see you there, with _everyone else_.”

With a dazzling smile for Ashe and nothing for him, she lifted her skirts and departed. Felix watched her go, trying not to focus on the sway of her hips in concert with the movement of her hooded orange mantle. The tenor of their conversation could not have gone much worse. He sighed.

“I’m sorry if I interfered,” Ashe said, reminding Felix he still had an audience. His former classmate looked like a kicked dog, and it was unbearable.

“You didn’t do anything,” he answered, and meant it.

Felix didn’t have it in him to lie to himself today—it wasn’t Ashe’s fault that his emotions were in full scale rebellion.

Ashe’s eyes focused on something behind Felix, and his entire expression transformed. Concern instantly melted into warmth and joy. Startled, Felix turned sideways to see Petra waving at them, her hands full of cleaning implements. He managed to return the wave so he didn’t seem like a complete asshole.

She joined them within seconds and exchanged greetings. Then her gaze refocused on Ashe with the same sappy expression he bore. Wait a minute...

“Ashe, are you wanting to start tea early? I am not yet finishing my chores, I’m afraid.” She held up the metal pail laden with brushes.

“Oh, no, I won’t be ready before 3 ‘o clock, either,” Ashe assured her, then held up his own basket. “I’m just here, um... helping—”

“We’re planning training sessions for secondary weapons,” Felix interjected, unable to watch another conversation implode like his had done with Annette.

Petra beamed at him, but her gaze returned to Ashe as she spoke. “What a wonderful idea you are having! I would be liking that greatly, to work on my bow skills more. Perhaps you can be assisting me with that, Ashe?”

“Of course! I’d be more than happy to help you with any techniques I know!” Ashe did a fist pump, his pale skin flushed. “Although Shamir is probably the best person to ask.”

“Nonsense!” Petra protested. “You are both Snipers, is that not correct?”

“Well, Shamir has so much more practical knowledge from being a mercenary.” Ashe shrugged, then summoned a tentative smile. “But I will teach you everything I know, until we can get her to help.”

Petra did her own fist pump, and Felix wondered how he’d missed this dynamic over the past month. Probably from hiding away in the training grounds, like Annette had correctly accused him of doing.

“This is the most wonderful news of the day, other than our tea time this afternoon!” Petra exclaimed. “I am very exciting— I mean, excited to join in.”

Turning to Felix, she asked, “Will you please be telling me when training begins?”

“After dinner,” he said, shooting Ashe a questioning look. The gray-haired man nodded in agreement.

“This gives me great joy!” Petra clapped a hand against her pail for emphasis. “I will tell all of the others to come and join in as well. Ferdinand was complaining about needing more training of his ax.”

“That sounds perfect!” Ashe grinned at her.

“Well, I must be finishing these chores on time, so I am not being late to our tea. I am filled with joy for the rest of this day!”

Petra gave Felix a nod, and Ashe a glowing smile, then continued on her way past them. This time it was Ashe who stared after her, his face a combination of emotions ranging from wistful to yearning. It was probably similar to whatever expression Felix had worn when Annette had left. The last thing he’d expected was to feel the solidarity of suffering with Ashe over matters of the heart—and not for the same person.

But in this short conversation where he’d been a third wheel, he finally knew the lay of the land. Ashe’s preference for the princess of Brigid was obvious to any onlooker. However they reconciled that against the backdrop of war—accepting the massive risk of heartbreak if one of them didn’t survive—he wished them luck.

Feeling far more relaxed than he’d felt in days, Felix waited for Ashe to recover his wits.

“I guess we’re all training with you tonight,” his former classmate said, with an apologetic smile. “Sorry if that’s not what you wanted.”

Felix frowned, confused. “I can’t imagine what you mean. Training will keep us all from getting killed.”

Ashe gave him a crafty look. “I meant that you’re supposed to train with Annette. And now we’ll all be there, and it’ll be crowded.”

Felix clamped down on the panic that flared up from that pointed statement. He’d never asked for his stupid emotions to fixate harder on Annette when they were facing potential slaughter. Unlike Ashe and Petra, he would not risk everything on a relationship with the odds of survival so low. He knew that pain far too well—knew how it twisted and tainted those left behind.

The sooner he got back on the battlefield, the safer they all would be. There he could _do_ something, be _more_.

“Annette and I have to discuss strategy first,” he replied. “We’ve been assigned to fight together up front whenever the Empire attacks.”

“Oh! I’m relieved that the Professor agreed to that,” Ashe said with feeling. “I have absolute faith in her abilities as a mage, of course, but if she runs out of spell reserves, she’s at risk. With you there, I’ll have nothing to worry about.”

“I fight to win,” he said. “Annette does too, even if she pretends otherwise.”

Ashe gave him a long look, then smiled. “You really do understand her better than you let on, Felix.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think Annette is used to being underestimated. That’s why she holds herself to standards that are sometimes impossible to meet.” Ashe held his chin in his hand in thought. “I know she’s worried about being the weakest link in the chain on the field.”

Felix was utterly baffled—she was not whom he’d have singled out as a liability in battle. “Why would she think that when she can see the evidence of her own training?”

“Everyone needs encouragement on some level to know where they’re at, don’t you think?” Ashe’s green eyes were thoughtful. “To know where they fit in the group, where their skill levels truly are, and what areas of weakness they have and should tackle first. You can’t always do that all at once by yourself.”

Felix was quiet, processing the content of Ashe’s words and seeing the truth of them—including their potential application to himself. He recalled the years of being behind Glenn in all aspects of training, being smaller, younger, slower, less coordinated, and the sheer frustration of it all. When Glenn died, he’d adopted the mantle his brother had shed, and kept competing to be the best. He’d never considered that drive a detriment before, but Ashe’s insights made him reconsider.

He inclined his head. “I see your point.”

Ashe surprised him with a warm smile. “And you just proved mine from earlier. You may act like you don’t care about other people’s perspectives, but you consider them all anyway. And that’s a good thing.”

“Hmph.”

Maybe there was truth to Ashe’s statement—more than he felt comfortable contemplating. For now, there were bigger fish to fry, like a whole training regimen to develop for whomever showed up this evening. Speaking of fish... his stomach rumbled at the thought.

“It’s close to lunch time, isn’t it?” Felix asked. “If you have time to grab a bite, you can tell me what you want out of your training.”

Ashe beamed. “That sounds fantastic! Let’s go!”

* * *

After weeks of self-imposed isolation, going straight into the jam-packed environment of the training grounds was an adjustment Annette hadn’t expected to struggle with. She’d always preferred the company of friends to her own, but tonight’s session felt like being back at the Academy, when she barely knew what she was doing. When she arrived with Mercedes, Ingrid, and Lysithea, Felix was in conference with Ferdinand, Hilda, and Shamir, and almost every former Blue Lion was there. Shamir was the only member of the Knights present, and both Dimitri and the Professor were absent.

“My, almost everyone is here!” Mercedes said, taking in the crowded space.

“Just like the old days,” Ingrid agreed. “Down to Sylvain doing his best to avoid showing up. He’ll probably saunter in here more than ten minutes late.”

(All three women had to stifle a guffaw when Sylvain proved Ingrid’s point, wandering in fifteen minutes past the start time.)

The next two hours saw Annette grouped with the secondary ax fighters, away from Mercie who was with Shamir and those practicing bow (including Felix when Catherine appeared to relieve him in teaching sword). Hilda and Caspar alternated teaching ax skills, and Annette practiced a number of drills against both of them, Ferdinand, Ingrid, Sylvain, Ashe, and Cyril. Their group and the sword group were the largest, and finished their last sparring bouts later than those working with bow.

“Good luck, Annie, I’ll see you later!” Mercie waved goodbye to her after waiting around ten minutes.

The others who’d focused on bow followed her, including Shamir and Catherine. Only Petra remained, taking shots at the targets while Ashe watched her form. They were so cute together, Annette had to keep her focus on the training instead of wanting to celebrate how happy Ashe looked.

Not long afterwards, Hilda and Caspar ended the ax session with a hearty pep talk and individual assessment of everyone’s improvements and areas of weakness. Her mind spinning with information, Annette headed for her bag of training gear, which she’d stashed on the steps away from the entrance. She dropped heavily onto the stair beside the bag, and unearthed leftover scones and water in an earthenware jug.

By rights, she was free to leave, but departing without even talking to Felix felt like falling back into the last several weeks of avoidance. Although their conversation hadn’t gone well that morning, she couldn’t return to that icy silence. The misery hadn’t been worth it—she’d gained nothing for it.

Even if Felix was uncomfortably direct at times, she could have moderated some of her reactions, too. After hours of turning over what had gone wrong in her head all day, examining it from every angle, Annette had been forced to admit they were both at fault. She could do better—that’s who she was at heart, what she’d always been driven to do, even before her father walked out of her life. Giving up and hiding didn’t sit well with her, not when Gustave Dominic had usurped that identity and held it in front of himself like a shield. Felix had his faults, goddess knew, but he was the opposite of what her father had become. For that reason alone, she’d keep trying.

If only Felix would release the clearly ailing women in the sword group, so she could talk to him!

When he finally granted her wish, Annette had drained half of the water jug and eaten two scones. Lysithea caught her eye and headed her way. The dark mage’s face was flushed from exertion, her white hair stuck in places against her skin.

“That was sheer misery,” she pronounced, collapsing beside Annette. “That man missed his calling as the royal torturer.”

Annette giggled over such a melodramatic delivery. “Torturer or not, it looked like you really improved your form by the end.”

“Well, it’s not like I had any choice, or he would have kept us there even longer,” Lysithea huffed disdainfully. “You could have better taste than that domineering taskmaster.”

Annette nearly choked on what was left of her scone.

“Hopefully he’s kinder to you,” she said, somewhat more charitably. “I assume you’re waiting for him?”

Annette’s face turned crimson, and she hastily looked across the room to see if Felix had overheard. Thankfully, he was talking to Dorothea about some kind of defense she’d struggled to master.

“We’ve been assigned to pair up at the front lines,” she said, lowering her voice. “This whole session came out of a conversation we had with Ashe about secondary weapon practice.”

“Of course it did.” Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Felix and his endless love of training.”

“Ashe asked for it, actually,” Annette said before she could stop herself.

It wasn’t like Felix needed her to defend him, especially when he’d done such a great job irritating her earlier. Why couldn’t she restrain her big mouth?

Lysithea’s brows raised. “Well, well. You mean Felix and you were supposed to work alone and the rest of us butted in? Please, monopolize him from now on, I insist.”

Annette’s face—which had finally lost its blazing heat—flared up again. This time, her gaze sought out Felix and of course he was looking right at them. Saints above.

Lysithea snickered, and took pity on her, patting her shoulder.

“Good luck, my friend. I’m for the kitchens to raid them for remotely sweet. I’m hungry enough to eat an entire cake.”

They sighed in unison at the idea of cake. And sugar supplies of any sort.

“Mercie has some extra scones we made this morning, in her room,” Annette offered. “They’re more tart than sweet, but they’re delicious.”

“You had me sold at ‘Mercedes’ and ‘scones.’ I’ll go find her,” Lysithea said, leaping to her feet with more gusto than she’d shown the entire conversation. “See you tomorrow.”

Annette stood and waved, then gathered her courage. Everything was going to be okay. It was just training, and at least she and Felix were speaking to each other again, even if it wasn’t as amicable as she wanted.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked into the center of the training grounds, where Felix stood alone, watching her approach. After the glut of people filling up the space, only six of them remained. Ferdinand and Caspar stood to one side in animated discussion, and Ashe and Petra were putting away the archery targets.

“Do you want to get started?” she asked Felix by way of greeting, taking a page from his book of directness.

He looked surprised, then disarmed her with that half-smile that spread throughout her bloodstream like a venin-infused weapon.

“I thought about some of the things we should practice, both with you casting and using an ax,” he said, the animation in his face a stark contrast compared to this afternoon. “Cover every possible scenario we can think of. Did you have something else in mind?”

Annette shook her head, warmed by the question, and his entire demeanor. “This is your area of expertise. But we should set up targets at some point if you want me using wind spells.”

“We’ll do that in a minute.”

Felix’s gaze darted downwards from her face, and a pensive look marred his brow. Um… what was going on? Heat crept up her neck.

“What? Do I have a spider crawling on me or something?”

He looked at her oddly. “No. Is this what you’re planning to wear into battle?”

Annette felt her face bloom into crimson banners, aware she’d overreacted _again_ , after resolving to think things through first. He was looking at her training outfit, not—other things.

“I’m wearing the warlock uniform,” she answered. “Unless the Professor had an unexpected change of heart during her five year nap, I’m assuming we’ll all be in battle class uniforms.”

Felix smirked at her quip, and some part of her instinctively chased after it, the way humor softened the sharpness of his features. “I only meant you should practice fighting here in what you’ll be moving in.”

Annette nodded in agreement. It was sound advice. She’d packed the two black warlock gowns she’d been given at the Academy, and she was pretty sure they still fit, although her adult body was curvier than she’d been at seventeen. Hopefully Mercie would take pity on her this evening and help her determine what alterations the gowns needed, if any.

“I’ll wear it to train from now on. You’ll be here every day, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be here, in my sword master uniform as often as the schedule allows,” he said.

For a moment, he looked uncertain, then mumbled, “I wasn’t expecting… this.”

“You mean my sudden willingness to train till I dropped?” she asked, unable to hide the humor beneath her wry tone. “I can’t afford to lose, and we need every minute we can get to prepare.”

Annette was rewarded with a full smile in answer, and it was more of a gut-punch than anything she’d felt since the battle at the reunion. Right now wasn’t the time to examine what her heart fluttered over—that being in lockstep with Felix made her world feel centered again, safer, despite all the threats looming in the distance.

She could explore her feelings in earnest in her diary later tonight. But right now, she had training to do, and Annette Fantine Dominic didn’t back down from a challenge.

She faced it head on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Kaerra3)


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